May 24th – Faux Pas’

We’re all guilty of them. Here are a few recent one’s I’d like to mention:

By others:

I was eating lunch by the tee-box on a prestigious golf course. All was quiet and well until a man came walking out beside a foursome trying to tee off, talking excessively loud on his cell phone in what, I guess, was a very funny conversation. The four golfers and I all looked at him, but I guess he doesn’t understand golf course etiquette. The one end of the conversation went something like this:

“Whoooo! I’m walking out on to this golf course, ah ha ha! You should see this place, I feel like I’m at the White House, ah ha ha! Man I’m at this conference and now I’m walking around this golf course Ah HA HA! Shit man, people are asking me for my opinion AH HA HA! Whoooo! You should see this place Ah HA HA! I feel like a big shot here Ah HA HA!”

…and so on. I swear to god he was like 10 feet from the golfers this entire time.

#2 – Fucking Canpar

I hate Canpar with such a passion. For starters, I almost never get my packages from them. Recently, they actually decided to call me to inform me of one’s arrival. I was in Atlanta at the time and asked them to hold it for me. When I got back I drove to the location listed on Google to pick it up. There was no such office. I checked again and found a second address. I drove a good distance to get to that one and still no sign whatsoever of a Canpar office. I tried calling several times but no matter when I did there was always a “higher than average number of callers” and was forced to hold for longer than I could bare every time. Today I drove back to the place where they were supposed to be and asked the people inside if they knew where it was. They pointed me in the right direction and eventually say the tiny Canpar sign, hiding behind a tree, and pulled into the parking lot. Their warehouse was around the back had no obvious entrance. I walked in the garage door and called inside for someone. I heard nothing back and continued in only to find a deserted warehouse. I tried knocking on a few doors and continued asking the question to no one “does anyone work here.” Finally, a guy yelled at me “Hey Retard!” and came quite aggressively down the stairs. My rage then exceeded it’s tolerable upper limit and I told him just what I thought of him and his shitty operation. When he realized I was indeed a customer and that they did indeed have my package he became quite apologetic – but wasn’t having any of it. He said he had had a rough morning. They open at 9am, it was now 9:40am. I’m calling bullshit on that one. How rough can 40mins really be? And besides who gives a shit? Maybe you should take two seconds to find out what a customer wants before you come out guns blazing. I think Purolator just gained a new customer.

My own:

#1. I showed up to sales meetings with a bit of a beard (not thinking anything of it). Someone commented that I might want to shave before things started. I went into my kit and realized I had forgotten my trimmer. As a result I was forced to scrape the damn thing off with one of those dollar store razors they keep at the front desk. Ouch.

#2. When I was checking my bag at the airport they asked for my passport. It was in a pouch in my backpack so I propped it up on and angled platform to retrieve it. My bag slipped and out popped my camping knife, which slide all the way across the floor and in front of the people standing in line. I totally forgot that I even had it and casually try to downplay the situation.

#3. I went out to dinner with some of my superiors. I ordered a glass of red wine, which came in a unusually tall glass. I jokingly commented that it was likely I would spill said glass. My boss ordered up some appetizers and I was offered the last chicken wing. Just as I was taking it the main course came and I went to put it on that plate, as the waitress was delivering it, instead. During the transfer I knocked the 3/4 full glass all over the lady in front of me (dressed in an all white top, with another white top wrapped around her waist).

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