Customer Service Shenanigans

It used to be said that the customer is always right. These days I'm convinced it's being said that the customer is a chump. A bit of respect, please?

I used to try to be a bit considerate about them, having worked in customer service myself, but eventually I came to the conclusion that people who can't or won't do their job and make no effort to be helpful deserve what they get, and if they annoy me I give them Hell. And nothing annoys me more than dun dun dunnnn...

The Teacher: outsourcing to India

Early one morning, Narisa Siddiq arrived at St. Tristan's to get a bit of admin and marking done in the peace of her classroom. Just as she sat down and began to pull sheets of paper out of her big rattan shopper, the caretaker, Mr. Wilkins, came in.

"Miss Siddiq," he said, his bushy grey eyebrows raised in a worried frown, "you shouldn't orta be 'ere."

"What do you mean, Mr. Wilkins?" asked Narisa. "I usually come in early on a Monday to get my marking done."

"Ah, but 'aven't you 'eard?" he asked, as if afraid that a bomb was about to go off. He looked for all the world like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "Your job's been outsourced to India, innit? You've been laid orf. Didn't you get the lettah?"

The Teacher: St Tristans School Trip

I've had a few ideas for the next episode of The Teacher, but it never seems to get beyond Narisa facing her old adversary, stairs The Tory, who is trying to do something dastardly to the kiddlies and she has to intervene. Then her brother Baltiman trumps to the rescue. The thing is, flatulence jokes can only go so far before they get old. I mean, really, once is enough. Unless you're writing a send-up of Astro Boy.

One of the scenarios I came up with was Narisa's class going on a school trip to the beach. The Tory shows up and decides to bomb the bus. Cue a Speed-like plot and resolution.

Pirhana Pedicure

RE: the change in my profile description, when friends came round for pizza and a chat last night, one of them, Tom, was amused when I told him about this blog after hearing about the fish pedicure treatment thingy you can get in the Arndale Center, Manchester. The conversation turned from a rather horrible-sounding beauty/pamper treatment option to what would happen if a Kingsian event* occurred while someone's foot was in the bowl.

Nadia's Superhero ideas

My friend Nadia has some funny ideas. I thought I was the wacky one! She reckons there aren't enough Asian superheroes around and that something should be done to redress the balance. 

The Teacher

Nadia believes that running about in dance tights with your underwear on the outside is undignified and looks a bit "Holy sartorial shenanigans, Batman, that outfit is camper than a Boy Scout Jamboree!" As a teacher, she reckons that what we need is a heroic role model that is not lame.

Seven gloaty Songs For Nadia

My friend Nadia is a teacher in a London school. Since she started there, she has been tormented by this bullying fiend of a woman who seems more like a German football player at an international match than a teacher. She dives like Tom Daley, is what I'm saying, and she does this to get sympathy. That, and her PHD in BS and her gold medal in Olympic-standard delusions of grandeur have wound her colleagues up no end... to her utter surprise.

Anyway, when Nadia phoned me today for our regular gossip-fest, it was to tell me she felt bad that this ridiculous figure of fun had gone the extra mile in Advanced Douchebaggery and actually did herself out of her job. Let's call this sad sack Elaine.

Elaine, also a teacher, wanted a more highly paid position in the school and had convinced herself that they simply couldn't do without her, so she hatched the maddest plan ever to get herself a promotion: she went up to the head and handed in her notice. Yep, she honestly believed that the head would offer to give her anything she wanted and beg her to stay on, the idea being that Elaine would then graciously accept the new, better position. Can you see how this ends?

Yes, dear readers, to everyone's amusement (apart from Elaine's), she handed in her notice and the head just accepted it. No begging, no pleading, no suicide threats or emotional blackmail. Elaine was aghast. To make things worse, it seems she hasn't even lined up a new job. She was counting on the headmistress begging her to stay and offering her the job she wanted as a bribe. Well, she didn't. At this point, it gets ridiculous because Elaine then staggers out all shellshocked and everything, and falls over conveniently in front of the staffroom, which she then enters in a bid to get some sympathy. Which doesn't happen. Elaine then slinks away with her tail between her legs.

Nadia tells me she feels a bit guilty for gloating, but after all Elaine has done to undermine her, I think she's entitled, and have compiled a list of songs to play on her ipod for a guilt-free gloat.

Counting down, Top of the Pops style, from number seven:

7. Leaving Me Now - Level 42


6. I'm Free - The Soup Dragons


5. Unbelievable - EMF


4. I'm Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down - Paul Young


3. Stupid Girl - Garbage


2. This Is The Day - The The


1. Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead - Wizard of Oz (original)

Link to video.

Gloat away, love. Gloat away. Here oop north, I'm gloating, too.

Frustratophone

My friend Nadia is being driven nuts by what can best be described as a Frustratophone. It all started innocently enough when she was offered a new phone by the people running her mobile phone contract, and she accepted it, as you do. The trouble with Nadia is that she's fussy, especially where phones are concerned.

She hates slider phones because if you leave them open for too long, they get stuck in that position (not an experience I've had, to be honest) and button phones annoy her by calling people unexpectedly if she has one in her handbag and she jiggles it.

After exhausting the possibilities, and because she wanted the biggest screen she could get, she settled for a touch-screen like the one on the left. So it begins...

First of all, she tried to import all the information from her other phone and ended up losing all the numbers. This led to her sending me an email to get my number. Then when she called me, it got ridiculous. Every once in a while, as we were yakking away, I'd hear a beeping sound. "Nad?" 

"I'm here."

"What's the beeping?"

"The phone. I don't know why it does that."

After a while the sound of her voice faded out. "Nad?"

"Wendy?"

"Nad, are you there?"

Just at the point of switching off the phone, the volume comes back up. "Sorry, Wendy, I'd brushed it. This darn thing is much too sensitive."

Great. So there's a good chance that, one day while she's walking along with it jiggling about in her handbag, it could end up dialling the speaking clock in Hong Kong and she'd be unaware of this until she got the bill. I mean, this thing freaks if she as much as breathes on it. So much for the wonders of technology.

Well that raises the spectre of the new phone I'm due to get from my contract supplier. Last time they called me to offer me a free new phone, I told them I wanted one the size of a half brick with decent-sized buttons because I'm not a flippin' Hobbit. I want to be able to see and touch one button at a time without the aid of a magnifying glass, is what I'm saying.

They sent me a slide-phone. The buttons are tiny. I avoid sending texts because the effort to type them is a flippin' ordeal. The buttons are tiny and don't always work when you press them. Or they do something unexpected. It took ages to work out how to get rid of that awful predictive text. I absolutely loathe that feature. 

So now, thanks to Nadia, I know to avoid the touch-screen ones unless they've got an option for switching off the screen touchability unless I want to use it. Otherwise I may find I've accidentally hacked into NASA while out shopping with the thing in my bag.

Online time-wasters

Should there be a twelve-step group for internet addicts? I'm becoming concerned that I may be addicted. I mean, I'm beginning to look like this:

The best excuse I can come up with for faffing about on Facebook, tweeting twaddle on Twitter and creasing up on Cracked.com is that, well, it's fun. And, as a certain Lolcat would say, it is relevant to my interests - if you like to read sweary articles about five reasons a zombie apocalypse will never happen. Which I do. Relevant to my interests? I'm a horror fan. Yeah.

It's beginning to take its toll. I've been up late at night just to read how some scary creatures *gasp!* resemble us, and 7 terrifying things the internet has unleashed on the world, etc. Cracked, is, of course, the worst offender. But it's so damn entertaining!

It's actually pushing the lolcats out. There's no escape. Once you get caught in the gravity well of ROFL, it's pretty much over. Like a fly stuck in a spider's web, you can struggle all you like, but you can't break free. And that's when the funny comes to get you. You've really got into 5 classic movies you didn't know were remakes and just had to read 5 reasons the good witch was a bad one. Then there's... but it's nearly 2am!

I could argue that I'm doing research for a possible future article about five naive art producers and why their drawings alone are hilarious, or five lol sites and why they are funny. But I'm busy doing this, and smoothing graphics for anything, particularly for this blog, can take hours. The more detailed the image, the longer it takes. And where do the images go? T'internet. 

Sigh!

Group names

I've been messing about with the dictionary widget on igoogle and came across some rather funny words. What exactly is a clowder of cats? I know it's a group, but where do these words come from? And what would you call a group of nerds?


Hmm... Now I'm thinking. This is a dangerous thing. Okay, how about "a niggle of nerds"? "A program of geeks"?  "A forum of gamers"?


Can anybody think of a better term?

Favicon fun

I like to play with graphics and will try anything at least once. When I noticed those tiny pictures that show up in the top left corner of tabs and web address bars, I began to wonder a) what they are and b) how I could make my own if I wanted to. 

The answer is here, if you're interested. They're called favicons. When making your favicon, choose the hosting option, then go back to your blog and choose design/edit HTML and add the code they give you just before the closing </head> tag. Then voilà, you have a favicon of your very own.

Do you see what I mean about needing to get out more? That said, I do think it looks cool. I'm all pleased with myself now!

The dangers of rain

My friend Pamela came over today and we went to the shops, as you do. 

"What's the weather doing?" she asked. "Is it raining?"

Rain. Fear it.

An innocuous enough conversation, right? Yes, but it got a bit silly when we got outside, it was raining and the umbrella stayed up long after the soakable part was over. I mean, personally, I don't mind a bit of rain. Drizzle away, I can live with it, but must we cower in terror at the mere thought of one drop falling on our helpless, quivering forms? To quote local comic Peter Kay, "It's spitting! It's spitting! Run for your lives!"

I don't get it. Obviously when I'm actually at risk of getting wet, i.e. dripping all over the floor when I get home, that's the time I'd reach for an umbrella, but the way Pamela sees it, you'd think she was the Wicked Witch of the West and would melt if she was touched by but a drop!

While it was still pouring, I huddled with her beneath her umbrella. We walked along as if we were in a three-legged race. The umbrella is quite small so I had to stick close beside her to keep dry. We were practically tripping each other up. When it slowed to a drizzle, I got out from underneath to get my space back, but she still clung to it like grim death. It wasn't until we were safely in the shopping centre that she finally took it down. It's not as if she has a fancy hairdo that might be ruined or anything. There really is no explanation for it. I just think it's hilarious.

My psycho washing machine

Am I the only one here who's afraid of her washing machine? I know it sounds weird but mine scares the crap out of me sometimes. Allow me to explain.

The Washing Machine of Doom

Here's a picture of the culprit. Doesn't it look innocent and harmless? It is until I put some clothes in. Then the fun (for the machine) begins.

Food for thought

It lives on a diet of Persil Automatic, chenille jumpers and black socks. Why chenille jumpers? It's destroyed several of my favourites already. You can almost hear it going "Om nom nom" while it's chewing up yet another item. I have to wash them by hand. And why black socks? I've learned to use those indispensable laundry bags. Really, I can't live without them.

Revolutions

It's fine when it's just humming to itself as my clothes revolve inside it, but when it spins I'm convinced that the world is coming to an end.
 

I try to avoid spinning it any more than I can get away with. I don't mind waiting for another day for my clothes to dry. But the other half doesn't get this. He finds it unsightly to have clothes hanging on the drying racks in the hall and likes to get them out of there as quickly as he can, even if it means paying for a dryer. To save on drying costs, he sets the machine to  super-spin, and that's when all Hell breaks loose. A racket like a malfunctioning jackhammer erupts from the kitchen (where the beast has its lair), drowning out all other sounds and giving me one mother of a headache. The banging, like a thousand Hellbeasts bashing armour-plated enemies with warhammers, threatens to shake my home to its foundations and topple the tower in which I live.

There's a very real risk that the neighbours will complain -- and who could blame them? Apart from the racket there's a reasonable possibility that the vibrations could do damage to something... or the damn thing could explode. I wouldn't be surprised if it did. I am surprised that I haven't had a visit from Plod, an outraged neighbour or someone from the council to complain about the unholy cacophony.

So there you go: I'm probably the only person you know who is afraid of her washing machine.

First post

Here it is: numero uno.

Dang! What am I going to write, and how the hell am I going to explain the Anglo-American slang? 

(Don't) mind my slanguage

It's a result of watching TV and looking at stuff on the internet. I love the icanhascheeseburger site and all that stuff, and like to post on forums under a variety of pennames.

A bit about me

What else? I like all kinds of horror, sci-fi and fantasy books and movies, and am a bit fickle with celebrity crushes. More on that later. 

Oh, and I draw pictures like this: 

Which, I must admit, make me look like a Frankenstein zombie that really hopes you like her (before she eats your brains). Yes, that's a self-portrait and yes, it is eerily accurate, particularly when I first get up in the mornings and before I've had my coffee.

I've downloaded GIMP, and am working to provide you all with better pictures. Paint doesn't have the convolve button. That's how I make them look smooth.

I've noticed that there are different kinds of picture  files. .PNG pics come out better than .JPG pics. This one would look terrible even if I did make it smoother. Should I bother?

Zombie-Franken-me

I'm having fun with tutorials, learning all about animation. Let's see what I can do with Zombie-Franken-me.

Dear me, that is disturbing. I've discovered all kinds of crazy features on GIMP, including Render/Line Nova, which I've used here. And fonts. Mad, crazy fonts in different shapes and sizes. I'll have more fun with them later. The Nom! font is Liquidism. I love it!

Now I need to get better at drawing online. I think I'll stick with GIMP. I can do much more with that than with Paint.

Here endeth the first post.

On blogging and the creation thereof

So I decided to start a new blog, the idea being to chronicle my assorted ramblings, which some people have told me are funny.

Prelude 

Okay, so I went trawling through the internet (read Google; I'm too lazy to use other search engines) to find some pictures to use, inspiration for my pen name and stuff to write about. Do you know that Google does the weirdest things when you're looking for images that are labeled for commercial reuse with modification? That's what you do to get pictures you can use on blogs and whatnot without getting into trouble for copyright violations. We'll get to how I discovered that later. The point is... well, there are several, actually:

1. You are less likely to find what you are looking for if you take the noble, honest (and free) route, i.e. search by "licensed for commercial reuse with modification"

2. You will find all sorts of weird stuff... well, stuff that's not necessarily weird but simply doesn't belong in those search results. Try working your way through Images/women/labeled for commercial reuse with modification and you'll get pictures of a city street, an old black and white picture of men playing soccer, pictures of women, Uncle Sam, a picture of an old building (it's a hospital), pictures of women, Daniel Craig as James Bond, some dude preaching or giving a lecture, pictures of women, Aussie former PM John Howard, a balding dude with a mic, a temple of some kind, two naked fairies that appear to be about to do a green dragon (see for yourselves!), a bowl of noodles...

3. You will think, 'Bugger that, I'll do something else.' So I did.

The Blog Begins

Then I went trawling through dictionaries and thesauruses to find a good name for my blog. It was going to be "Cal's Chronicles" (based on my old C.B. handle from back in the day. Guess how old I am!) but that's lame, so I had a bit of a chunter to myself and the title just came to me.  Then, because I couldn't find a suitable picture on t'internet I made my own.

Okay, I cheated, but only a bit. I mean, you can hardly tell, can you? It's late, so I'll write the first post tomorrow.