ESP Story Time

You need to know how to read to lead story time though.

I hear a lot of sob stories, many bullshit stories, and weird third-person stories. I don’t like to hear ESP stories, I just like to retell them. One ESP decided calling customer service was fucking story time. And let me tell you, his story was a piece of shit.

Winston: “Thank you for calling Telescreen Super Department, this is Winston, how may I help you?”

Customer: “Alright listen, I won’t tear your head off too. I’ve been doing that to everyone else. I’ll just tell you a story.”

Actually tearing my head off sounds better than fucking story time.

Customer: “Once upon a time, there was a Telescreen customer named Shithead McGee.”

Of course he used his real name, but Shithead McGee sounds better. Also, who begins a story with once upon a time? This isn’t fairytale land, this is fucking customer service.

Customer: “This customer ordered his services, paid his money, and then some, pardon me, fucking idiot installed the service. I’ve been having problems ever since and have never gotten them fixed.”

Wait, we’re switching from third person back to first person? What kind of shitty story is this?

Customer: “Can I be frank? The install was a fucking abortion. Fucking. Abortion.”

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I’ll Sue Your Pants Off

Gary thought the best marketing plan was intimidation. Brian thought the balding mullet look was a good idea. Both men were wrong.

In a recent effort to help my fellow man with some fine tips on how to manipulating customer service, I noticed there hasn’t been much crazy shit on ESP for awhile. I decided it was time to quit pussyfooting around and post a real ESP story. Ah, finally I can use my new favorite word: pussyfoot.

I’ve been threatened quite a bit during my tenure at Telescreen. Most of the threats are for physical violence or some sort of legal procedure. To put that in terms of stupid, dipshits say, “I’ll kick your ass,” or “I’ll sue your ass.”

Some crazy old bitch called in, all pissed off about something I didn’t give a fuck about, per the norm. Maybe she forgot to pay her bill. Maybe she couldn’t figure out how to turn on the TV. Maybe she was fucking stupid. That’s the one.

She began yelling and complaining because she couldn’t get what she wanted, and then came the threat, “I’ll sue you Winston! I’ll sue your pants off!”

Now that was an interesting threat. Extra points for creativity on that one. I’m pretty sure that was the only time someone threatened to de-pants me with the legal system. Allow me to analyze the clever threat:

One day, I’ll walk into the shithole known as Telescreen Inc, and as I make my way to my desk, my pants will fly the fuck off. Then, a lawyer will bust through a random door and run over to me. Not a real lawyer, but one of those fake strip mall lawyers. You know, the ones that have really annoying commercials with stupid tag-lines or gigantic billboards highlighting their ugly ass faces.

The balding lawyer will then yell, “I’m gonna sue you for all you’ve got you son-of-a-bitch! Haha!” All the while, I’m without pants, because they already flew off into oblivion.

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