Category Archives: You Stupid Dick

God Help Me

Tech, You Stupid Dick

I’m going to Best Buy tonight to try to order a computer. An iMac. Using a gift card as part of the payment.

Yeah I know! Crazy!

Everything about this I know is setting off alarms in my head. I have become so cynical towards customer service from past experience (and not just from Best Buy), that I am not putting a lot of faith in this foolish endeavour. At the first sign of stupidity I will throw my hands up in the air and run from the store in tears, sit on the pavement outside the store and light my Best Buy credit card on fire like some well meaning Vietnam Buddhist monk.

I know what you’re thinking – Why not just go to the Apple Store? Due to the impending cruise our cash has been vented to the vacation, meanwhile our Best Buy card has been gathering dust since our TV purchase. My need for a new computer outweighs my desire to keep my sanity intact, it seems.

Yesterday I tried calling around to various Best Buy stores to see if they had the particular iMac I wanted – the BB site sucks for inventory reporting. After calling a couple locations I knew the sequence of buttons to get to the Computer Hardware Department line but apparently at the Downsview store, pressing the same sequence of buttons lands you in some freaky alternative universe of goatee-wearing Best Buy employees:

BB Girl: Thankyouforcallingbestbuy. How can I direct your call?
Me: I’m calling to see if you have the 21.5″ iMac in stock.
BB Girl: Is that… pardon?
Me: The Apple iMac…? 21.5″ model…?
BB Girl: Is that a computer? I guess you want a computer!

Holy crap. A Best Buy employee that didn’t know what an Apple computer was? Meanwhile, she transfers me to a dead line.

If I walk out of the Yonge and Dundas outlet with nothing more than anger I will utterly gobsmacked. Stay ‘tuned!

Happy Dead Robot

Happy Dead Robot

Update: We walk into the Y&D Best Buy store and after trying hard to wave someone down we hung out near the staff door near the back. We flag down a woman going off the floor and she calls on her headset for a manager to come by to help us. The manager is not really interested in helping us since he has no more iMacs in his store. Can we purchase it now and wait for it to be shipped? No. Can we purchase it now and have it shipped from another store? No. Can you tell us the nearest store that has one. Sigh. From his terminal he finds one out by the airport. Thanks buddah!

However, the staff and service out at the Etobicoke store was polar opposites. We got help within seconds, we fixed our BB card with the CSR within moments (apparently they changed finance companies that day – hence the inability to purchase the computer online last night) and had the iMac in my hot grubby hands within 15 minutes. Night and Day, my friends.

Dear Sears Customer Service Department

Toronto, You Stupid Dick

Last night my family went to your Eaton Centre store to do some holiday shopping. Kudos on getting your store so Christmas ready so soon after Halloween!

My Sister In Law (let’s call her SiL) found a few interesting holiday decorations in your Christmas department on the main level of your store and took her purchases to the counter. And waited. We noted a CSR restocking some shelves near by and asked if she could ring in our purchases.

Funny thing that phrase “ring in”. It comes from when JC Penny put bells in their cash register drawers to alert management when money was coming in.

Back to my story: her response was: “I don’t know where she is. If you want to buy that you have to go allllll the way down that way.” She says with a sweeping arm movement indicating some remote part of Tibet.

She turns back to stocking Holiday ornaments. No bells here, JC! Have a happy season!

We debate the purchase. We decide since we’re here and not in a big rush to look for another sales kiosk. We find one a few isles over in the opposite direction. Thankfully we didn’t take that Sherpa’s direction.

Getting to an available cash was no problem at all. All 4 registers were manned and humming along, ignorant to the worst recession Canada has ever experienced in our lifetime. By the way, you’re welcome for our continued custom. When we get to the desk, SiL places her glass ornaments down on the counter and asks for a box.

Really they were lovely decorations: one was a glass tree, the other a glass gift box – both hand painted and gilded with holiday cheer.

The clerk picks up the gift box decoration, looks at it and without any sense of humour says “This is already in a box.”

We blink. We’re too stunned to say anything. She. Is. Serious. Without waiting for our response she rings the items in and wraps them up in crepe paper. Kudos to her for also wrapping up the plastic box of chocolates we had picked up, in crepe paper.

SiL and I are still looking at each other in amazement. Did she really think a 2″ square glass tree decoration was a gift box? SiL asks again for a box.

“Oh no we don’t have boxes for those.”

“It’s a gift…”

She sighs and pulls out a shirt box. Like wrapping a pair of ear rings in a shipping container. We decline.

She presents SiL with the  charge card slip for signature and as SiL is placing her credit card back in her purse, the clerk asks “Do you want a bag?”

Dang, I forgot. SiL’s head nearly flies off. She’s from Vermont, you see, where they don’t have crazy laws like every purchase requires we pay 0.05$ for plastic bags down there. I explain this to her.

“Why didn’t you ask if I wanted one before we finished the transaction?” Neither one of us had change.

The clerk offers no explanation and places our items to the side. She readies her station for the next purchase.

To diffuse the situation I had a bag from an earlier purchase and placed the carefully wrapped items in my bag.

“Next in line please!” Apparently we’re done and need to step aside.

I realize, Sears, that the luck of the draw might have made SiL and I encounter a couple of seasonal workers not graduated from your excellent customer service training system, but our one purchase with you has turned me off your store for a while.

Eat a microwaved bowl of dicks, Sears.

Why I Love SharkBoy: Telemarquetting

You Stupid Dick

This is SharkBoy’s side of a conversation with a telemarketer just now. Read all this in ultra monotone:

Hello?

Yes?

Who’s calling?

No. I think you don’t want to talk to us.

We don’t live here.

No. From Montreal. We’re visiting.

And not having a good time.

We hate this city.

Yes.

Terrible time.

I hope things turn around too.

Bye.

Simple Bike Message

Hobbies, You Stupid Dick

Cute simple message about bike safety via Gizmodo on a quiet Sunday.

I’m slightly disturbed by some of the comments left by the viewers:

As a cyclist who rides every day to work I say tough f*ing luck if you don’t like it. In downtown Denver I’m faster than all you twats stuck in traffic growing your fat asses. If the intersection is open I’m taking it. You want you’re (sic) road back? Give us real bike lanes or be prepared to ride behind me. Don’t worry, you’ll get to your red light on time. I don’t want you to think about me or act any different than if I were not there. I’m depending on your poor skills behind the wheel. I can see you texting, on the phone, fighting with your wife, changing the radio station, eating your fat ass burgers. I take full advantage of your lack of attention. As soon as people behind the wheel try to accommodate me, they suck even more. I don’t care if you hate me, if you want to hit me (you won’t), if I slow you down. Its my road too.

The rest of the ass hat comments run along these lines on both sides of the argument. It’s not a war, people.

Virgin No More, or, I Believe I Can Fly

Toronto, You Stupid Dick

Tonight, I had my first bike accident in the city of Toronto.

I’m OK thanks, just major road rash and a bruised rib.

Right near the Yonge and Summerhill Liquor Store. Shots please!

Right near the Yonge and Summerhill Liquor Store. Shots please!

I was biking through the only “real” place where the presence of a bike is a gray area: a path through a city park. Not quite a sidewalk, certainly not a bike path. Right by the entrance to the park, two 8yr old girls decided to dart out in front of me, thankfully at a distance that allowed me to stop.

But unfortunately that distance included a slight downward grade. The following 4 things happened within a matter of seconds: I was

  1. braking
  2. reaching for my bell to warn the kids
  3. trying to shout something
  4. fighting the left turn of the handlebars as the wheel fought the downgrade

I found myself going over the handlebars.

Then time slowed down, as it does, when you have an accident. Like the last violent punch in Batman Arkham Asylum, I could see myself start the 215lb launch over my K2 hybrid bike. Curiously enough, I could imagine the look on my face as I went down: one of utter dissapointment. Suddenly I was worried I was going to hit one of the kids. Nope. They’re a good distance, but their eyes look like dinner plates. Then I felt really relieved that I was falling on a sidewalk and not the road.

Then the cement hit me.

The back end of the bike came up over me but didn’t crest my body. I instinctively (or so I will brag for the rest of my life) tucked into a perfect Aikido roll and minimized the damage done to my person: a scraped right pinky knuckle and a gash on my elbow. As the bike and I stopped our downward fall, forward roll, I immediately put my right slip-on dress shoe back on.

Yeah, instead of anger, pain or concern, I was worried about my shoe.

Standing and surveying the damage done to my bike, a woman jogger asked, “Are you ok?”

“Yes thanks,” I say. I think I’m in shock. I’m starting to pick up the little tiny plastic bits from my gear changer display from my handle bar. I think, “Why the hell am I picking this stuff up?”

“I think you’re in shock,” she says, “Do you have a cell phone? I can call an ambulance.”

Holy shit is there a bone sticking out somewhere?

Nope.

“I’m… I’m OK. I’m more embarrassed.”

“I understand,” she says taking the hint to minimize the moment. As she puts on her headphones: “I ran face first into a wall once.”

As I turn and test the gears (thankfully only cosmetic damage to the bike), I hear what I assume is a Filipino minder yelling at the girls. I assume this because I was riding through one of Toronto’s most expensive neighbourhoods, Rosedale, and no parent in their right mind up there would take their kids to a park right after rush hour.

Without a word, I get back onto my bike and ride off.

I assure you, I have gone through the gambit of emotions, including bitching out the little girls in an internal shouting tirade that results in a steady stream of tears and emotional scars for life.

Not really.

Now, my chest hurts. I think I’ve bruised an ovary. I’ll most likely take pictures of my damage tomorrow for greater visual impact.

hahahah… impact! I kill me!

Visit Exciting Cabbagetown!

The Bad, Toronto, You Stupid Dick

Here is my copy for the local BIA’s upcoming flyer, to drum up interest in the Cabbagetown area. A place in which I live.

rotted-cabbageCabbagetown – Discover It!

Shop Cabbagetown! With over 200+ stores in our village you’ll be sure to find all your Chinese knock off needs! Visit the stores you have to push past cheap crap merchandise to actually get into the store to shop at! It’s quaint! It’s like the shop owners are saying “this is the shit we wish you’d steal!” After the boutiques, why not visit the Frills de Non Food Emporium where the ever beautiful check out staff will berate you for losing your wallet, or ignore your very presence by holding lane crossing conversations over your very head! Duck and cover!

Meet the Locals! Stop in at the hub of activity known as “The Laundromat!” where the sign outside proclaims they expertly handle Jambo sized loads! Feel free to eavesdrop on the colourful twosome from one of the many halfway homes, as they discuss how difficult it is to find “good cigarette butts” these days because everyone is cleaning up after themselves! Laugh at the antics of the Scooter Family as mother, daughter and other daughter try to negotiate the tiny corridor of washers in their three electrified scooters… at the same time! Swear words and hilarity ensue!

Street Performances Nightly! Got your dancing shoes on? Great! Because the night is the best time to evade punches at the streetcar stop as you defend yourself from fat bastards who insist on slurring your sexual orientation (regardless of what it is). Watch as they boozily toss punches like Mardi Gras beads! You’ll get caught up in the fun and become the show as people stop and stare at your street adventure! I hope you like to Tango, because this is going to go on every time the EI cheques come in! If dancing isn’t your forte, why not just people-watch from a safe distance (The Annex?) at the fine establishment that serves up the city’s cheapest draft beer and some chemical enhancements, if you know the right person to ask! Sing along with the decades old songs that get croaked like a liquored up frog, well past the 11pm noise bylaw – Wee! We don’t care if you live near by! You should be partying too!

Cabbagetown Festival Got something to sell fresh of a missing skid from your brother’s uncle in law’s shipping company? Hungry for roasted corn? And more roasted corn? Did we mention roasted corn? You can get it all and more at this yearly community event! Hundreds of homes open up their front lawns to the area’s largest garage sale! Get a scoop on what your neighbour thinks is re-sellable – like an open box of Q-Tips! Or Atari 2600 cartridges of Frogger! (Not open to people who live above stores in the BIA area)

What are you waiting for? Cabbagetown is waiting for you!