IT Helpdesk - This is Harry Caray

Our job in my department is inherently stressful as the primary goal is helping clinicians who give end of life care for our patients.  Their jobs are even more stressful as they provide care for actively dying patients or even attending deaths every day and we get calls from them while they are in the field.  During the down times when the phones are silent, the IT room can be a very humorous place and is a good place to relieve stress.  

There's only seven of us when we are at capacity and we had maybe four people in there when someone suggested that every time the phone rings, we should answer with a different accent.

I'm only on the phones when we are low on people, but it was fun discussion with everyone throwing out different accents.  Then it dawned on me, forget accents, I should answer the phone as Harry Caray.

Ladies, if you don't know who Harry Caray is, here's Will Ferrell doing a passable imitation.  Watch this first so you can hear his voice in your head.

I watched enough Cubs baseball in the 1980s after we got cable to do a really horrible Harry Caray imitation.

***

"Hey! IT Helpdesk; this is Harry Caray.  How can I help you?"

"Hey! I've reset your password.... It's 'CubswinCubswin' with two capital 'Cs'."

"Huh.  So your saying you can not still connect to your MiFi?  Holy cow!!!!"

"It's the bottom half of my seventh hour today, supporting nurses.  Sing it with me.... one, two, three, four.... Take me out to the ballgame....."

"It might be....  It could be....  Your database is replicating!!!  How about that?"

"Hey!  Please stop booing me.  I'm trying to help you."

Mom's trip to Walmart

I was talking to mom earlier this week on the phone and she told me about a recent trip to Walmart.  My mom loves going to the local Fern Creek Walmart.  She buys quality items at an affordable price and she gets entertainment for free.

She was on her way to my aunt's house and needed three items.  As she went to the express checkout, there was a very large, smelly biker asshole (SBA) with a cart full of things going through the express lane.  If we do a comparison of the tape, my mom is five foot two inches and weighs whatever a thin grandma that size weighs.

This pissed her off to no end.  (As I told this story to my coworkers in IT, they all drew a connection and realized where I got "it" from.  What "it" is must be my sense of fairness in this world.)

My mom glanced up at the sign and down at the guy.  He didn't notice this, so she stepped back, looked up, stepped forward and looked down again.

He still did not notice.

On the third attempt, the SBA did notice.

"Do you have a problem?" he asked her.

The cashier, who already seem scared of the guy stopped for a moment and likely held her breath waiting to see what would happen.  Apparently he was a very scary looking guy.

The sixty-five year old grandmother, in a calm soothing voice, holding back her righteous anger at the SBA responded.

"I don't have a problem, but I think you do.  In addition to not being able to read, you can't count."  

When my mom began to retell this story at my aunt's 30 minutes later, they had minor heart attacks.

"I'm not holding up anyone." he responded.

"You are holding me up," she answered, "I have three items and am stuck behind you.  There's a reason it is called an express lane."

Two of the aunts asked her if she was afraid he would be waiting for her outside.  Mom wasn't worried because there are cameras everywhere and it was daylight.  Still, I think she needs to consider whether to comment or not in the future.  Luckily, in this case, the SBA probably decided that shiving a 65 year-old grandmother would not build his reputation, finished up and left.

My mom then complained to the girl.  Her defense was that it is only a suggestion that the person have fifteen items or less.  They also are not allowed to turn people away.  I hold Walmart management responsible for not enforcing these rules.  

I have equally been frustrated by this over the years.  People who go through those lines with too many items are simply self-absorbed assholes, but what can we do?  

Conversations with Mom

I have recently been contemplating going back to school.  I graduated with my MBA in 2009 and that should be enough, but what I found was that I really enjoyed being back in the academic environment.  My undergrad years were not quite so enjoyable, but grad school was different.  I was older, more mature, and not as much into partying as I was back then.

One of the things I had always considered was being a lawyer.  For example, I hate getting screwed over by insurance companies.  

A couple weeks back I was at my mom's talking about it and my options of law school when I was at her house one Saturday morning.  I was excited with the opportunity although the opportunity may not materialize.

"How fun would that be, me in court?" I asked her.

"I don't know," she said.

"Can't you just hear me now?  'Your honor, permission to treat this jackass as a hostile witness?'"

"I don't think that would be a good idea.  He can fine you or put you in jail."

I had a recent accident where the guy pulled out in front of me.  I had even created my line of questioning before they decided they could not beat my evidence.  

I demonstrated how I would ask my questions for her.

"Are you an idiot?" I would ask the defendant.

After the objection, I would point out that he couldn't be smart for running a two way stop where cross traffic does not stop and in this scenario, I was "cross traffic."

After that objection, I would say, so "You're right, I'm mistaken.  He's a genius."

My mom looked at me, with some concern in her eye.  "You're worrying me," she said.  "I think that might get you sent to jail for contempt.  The judge would not put up with you mocking a court of law."

"I'm not mocking the court, I'm mocking the idiot defendant.  There is a big difference there."  

"Bryon, I don't think you can afford to be a lawyer.  Every appearance will cost you $3000 in fines."

***

Today I stopped off at my mom's and while sitting there, she could not get her phone to work.  I told her to take the battery out when it suddenly rang.

She looked at me and said, "Stop calling me.  Why are you calling me?  I am trying to fix my phone!!!"

I was perplexed as I looked up from the iPad and over at my phone sitting on the table.

"I'm not calling you.  My phone's right there."

The phone kept ringing and she turned so I could see it.  "See?  You're calling me!!"  

The screen said Brandon Jordan.  That's my brother.

"Mom, that's not me.  It says 'Brandon.'  I'm "Bryon.'"

"Oh."

She answered the call, laughing, unable to catch her breath.  

***

My brother, dad and nephew Cole came over for a bit and then left. 

I went to the medicine cabinet to get some ibuprofen.

I initially picked up naproxen and then she walked over and picked up the acetaminophen.  I took two and noticed they were blue.

"Why are these blue?"  I threw them in my mouth and swallowed them without water which made her gag.

Then I read the label and realized what she gave me.  These are "PM."

"Let me see that."  She glances at the label.   "They help you sleep. At least they're not extra strength."

Eight seconds later she reads the front of the bottle.  "Oh, these are extra strength.  You better start driving home before you get tired and need a nap."

"Oh my God.  You drugged me!"

I made it home in 25 minutes and was napping 15 minutes later.  Glad I only took two of them.

It's a Buckeye Thing

I was on the way home, having stopped at my watering hole in J-town, when I decided to stop and harrass the local Little Caesar's Pizza. Going on 3 years now, they have advertised their pizza is "Hot and Ready."

Guess what? They are full of shit. 

Eleven times out of twelve, not that I keep a spreadsheet, I have stopped and asked them if they understand the definition of what "Hot and Ready" means when I walk in and ask for one of these mythical pizzas. I even use air quotes as I ask and then stand there waiting for a response. 

I think I have a better chance of being struck by lightning than actually getting a pizza that is "Hot and Ready" from these brazen liars. 

So I walk back to my car empty handed and head to the next exit and decided to stop at Wendy's. 

I have a terrible history with Wendy's as well. They do not know how to take an order. I ask for a hamburger without mayonnaise and lettuce and inevitably, I get lettuce and/or mayonnaise. It's like they are pushing a lettuce and mayonnaise agenda.   I went nine times in a row during 2012 and they messed it up seven times, not that I keep a spreadsheet. 

I walked around to my table and I notice at another table by the door is a table of three large sized African-American men. I am guessing they are my age. One of them has a sweet, black leather coat with Ohio State across the back.  

It's not uncommon to come across a Buckeye fan down here, but this was a worn jacket and it was clear he had been a long time fan.  I am wearing my scarlet Ohio State jacket as well, but his back is towards me, so there's no plan initially of shouting "O-H" and waiting for an "I-O" response. 

I sat quietly, eating my meal.

The shift manager walked out as I was finishing up. He walked over to clean tables and asked the three men if everything was OK. They responded it was great. 

He walked over to me and saw I also wore my Buckeyes proudly. 

"Hey," he said, "You're both Buckeye fans!" 

Without hesitation, as the three of them then glanced over to me, I said, "What are you saying? That all Buckeye fans know each other?" 

I never heard three people laugh so hard in my life. 

The Wendy's manager seemed uncomfortable. 

I finished my meal and went to the garbage can and threw the trash away. 

"Go Bucks," I said smiling to my friend I never met. 

He looked up smiling and said, "O-H!" 

I responded, "I-O!" and left into the night. 

It's a Buckeye thing.

My Mother, The Felon

It had been an uneventful week.  I spent a lame night in Mason, Ohio, for New Year's Eve and lost two hours of my life watching "Nacho Libre."

Seriously.  How bad is a movie when this is the funniest line?





So my weekend arrives and I ran over to my mom's house after going into work to wrap a couple items up on Saturday morning.

Within two minutes, she walks out with five Christmas presents.  I forgot that I had seen her during the holiday multiple times, but none of those were at the house where I would have my presents.

I shook the first box and guessed a shirt.

As I opened it, I saw it was a USPS Two Day Priority shipping box.

"Mom?  What are you doing?  You can't use these for gifts.  That's illegal."

"But they were the perfect size for wrapping gifts."

"Mom.  It's a felony or something."

"What?  Are you gonna turn me in?"

"Oh my God."  It was ridiculous to argue.  The damage was done.

I opened the box and I got socks.  

I open the second box and it is also a USPS Two Day Priority shipping box.

"Seriously?" I ask.  "This is a crime or something."

"They don't know I have them."  

Of course my typing this story up makes it visible for them, I guess.

"They will have your face on the wall up there if they catch you."

"They should've taken my photo while I was there because I am not going back."  She was getting defiant.  I see where my niece Avery gets it from.

The gift was a flannel shirt.

"You have to make a promise though," she said.  "For you to have this shirt, you have to throw out one of you old ones."

"No.  I just wear the old ones around the apartment."

"They're gross and ratty," she insisted.  

"I only have one left."

"It has to go."

She thought I still had one in a photo I have on Facebook when my now 16 year old nephew was born.  I got rid of it a year or so ago.

Bryon and Calvin, 11/21/96

That was one of my favorite shirts for years.  I did not so much as throw it out as it seems to have disintegrated.  I think it was officially gone after I vacuumed up the flannel molecules and changed my furnace filter.

I opened up the third gift and once again was another USPS box with another flannel shirt in it.

She slid the fourth box over and told me it was from dad.  It had different dimensions that the other three boxes.

I open it and it's ANOTHER USPS box.

"I knew I should've stopped you with those ramekins.  It was a gateway crime."

I open it up and it was a black sweatshirt and sweatpants.  

"Oh," she said.

"What?"

"That's not what I was expecting.  Your dad asked me, 'Do you think Bryon would wear a white sweat suit?'  I told him, 'No, he take it back because he will say it makes him look like a fucking snowman.'"

The fifth gift came in it's own box, so no crimes were committed in wrapping it.

I did check and according to the USPS website:

The terms of Agreement for the use of United States Postal Service shipping supplies is as follows: I understand that Express Mail service, Priority Mail service, Global Express Guaranteed, Express Mail International and Priority Mail International packaging is the property of the United States Postal Service and is provided solely for sending Express Mail, Priority Mail, Global Express Guaranteed, Express Mail International and Priority Mail International. Misuse may be a violation of federal law.

I guess there is some wiggle room on "may be a violation?"  

May be it's not?