2 Minutes for Holding

The music crescendos, your heart races, your palms sweat, your patience wanes, and you begin to feel a nervous twitch. Think I’m talking about a night at the opera? Think again, I refer to the range of sights, sounds, and emotions you experience while on hold.

            When you think about it, being on hold is the same thing as waiting on any line. However, the blind nature of the wait makes it uncommonly vile. There is no “light at the end of the tunnel”, there is no interesting person to make fun of, and there is most certainly no candy or other useless products to sample. Rarely do I pick on someone or something without suggesting possible solutions, this is no different. I present to you, with special thanks to Swanky Persia, a list of suggestions to make holding a little less unpleasant.

 

·       Hold Music Selection: Why is hold music either Bach’s worst symphony played by the Red Neck Philharmonic or something straight out of an 80’s porn? Is there no happy medium? I notice too that there is never anyone singing while I am on hold. Is there some unwritten rule that words may not grace my ears while I am on hold?

·       Suggestion: Allow the listener their choice of music. Even if there can be no words, at least allow me Bluegrass over Flock of Seagulls instrumentals covered by Sucky Saxophonist and his jazz Octet.

 

·       Hold Music Volume: EVERYTIME I FIRST HEAR HOLD MUSIC IT IS ALWAYS WAY TOO LOUD! IT ALWAYS TAKES ME A SECOND TO FIND THE VOLUME BUTTON, before I can turn it down. Damn that’s better, sorry.

·       Suggestion: Could you turn it down please?

 

·       Voiceovers: Yeah the first time I hear: “We appreciate your business, your call is important to us,” I usually buy it. However, by the 8^th time, I’m not exactly feeling like your most valued customer. Another annoying aspect of the voiceover is when I leave my cell on speaker. The instant the music breaks for the voice, it sounds like someone is answering my call. I rush to the phone, but alas it is you “appreciating” me again. This false hope makes me even more anxious and rabid by the time I get to your representative.

·       Suggestion: Help all of us out and end the voiceover movement. I know you don’t appreciate me, that’s why I’m on hold in the first place. Your product either sucks or your service has failed. Oh and whatever research you have that says voiceovers sooth or placate me, throw it out because its bologna. PHONEY BOLOGNA!

 

·       Customer Service Reps: The most annoying part about being on hold sometimes comes after you are finished. How often do you get to the customer service rep and they produce one of the following: “Yeah you’re going to have to come into the store,” or “I can’t do that for you let me transfer to someone who can”. Why did you put me on hold just to send me to a store or put me on hold again? AHHH! The worst part is that you have to explain the problem to another person. After a while, it’s starts to get a bit exasperating.

·       Suggestion: Make it so the person I call can help me. A profound idea if I do say so myself. In cases where that is absolutely not possible, record my problem and play it for the next service rep that deals with me. This way I do not have to repeat myself until….I turn into….Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

 

I hope you enjoyed reader appreciation Thursday! Friday will be cloudy with a 90% chance of DINGLEBERRIES!!!!!!!! Who’s got your back? I’ll tell you who, Teddy Jones and he’s at The Gumption.

 

Appreciation

Thursday baby! Hell yeah! Fist pump! We made it!

There have been rumblings down at The Gumption, and rest assured I have taken heed. Any bear worth his salt knows what’s going on in his “neck uv da woodz” (3000, Andre et all 1999). I am worth my salt, and my paprika for that matter.

The winds of change are blowing in from the West, and spring will shortly be upon us. With the change of the season, we will be adding a new voice. The figure on the horizon is still a bit sketchy at this point, but I will tell you what I know. The voice will be one of the female variety, and she will hail from a PAC-10 University Newspaper. If you are inclined to start doing some deductive reasoning, remember my affinity for lady bears, condoms, and the state of California. We will certainly raise hell, but we will not be raising Arizona. A more formal announcement will come shortly.

With that said we wanted to publicly recognize those who have made this experiment worth continuing. Butang and I cannot thank you enough for your patience, enthusiasm, opinions, suggestions, and unrelenting desire to make this blog into something worth checking everyday. Rather than do some bullshit general thank you, we have given you each a Gumption nickname to show our appreciation.

 

The Inaugural Nickname List:

·      JPK

·      Detective John Kimble

·      Iron Man

·      Julianne Moore

·      Furrball

·      Lady Longhorn

·      Cloverbomb

·      The Narberth Nightmare

·      First Blonde of New England

·      The Hairy Freight Train

·      Swanky Persia

·      Marathon Man

·      Muffins

·      Marcus Effronicus

·      By Any Queens Necessary

·      Marathon Woman

·      Size Playa

·      Doctor Feel Good

·      White and Warren

 

Consider yourself knighted and the like. If you’re not up there yet, don’t worry about it. The Gumption loves one and all; your time in the sun will come. You know what else? We’re not done, today’s a two-bagger, check back with us around 2:30 durrrty! I’m Teddy Jones and I sincerely thank you for being a part of The Gumption.    

Your Poor Huddled Masses

I recall the day I first setup my iPhone. My contacts were loaded successfully, my tunes all synced; now to notify everyone I changed my number. I start to add all who were important into a text with the new digits. All those tech savvy Mac snobs in the audience (it takes one to know one) will remember that the original iPhone did not allow you to mass text. Realizing that I would either have to tell people one by one or start a Facebook group, I fumed, I shouted, I ranted, but little did I know this was a blessing in disguise.

            Since then, I have grown to know what you will undoubtedly understand after this post. Mass texting, simply put, is the worst evil that I will write about today. It’s not really that bad, but it’s mildly annoying. Made you look right? So now that I’ve put this subject’s real relevance into a legitimate perspective, away we go! 

• The Save the Date: Civilized people used to send this message on formal stationary known as “Save the Date” cards. This text usually goes: “Hey see you on Saturday night @ 8:30, don’t be late!” Simple enough right, but what if you have an overprotective girlfriend? I can see it now: I am drying off from a shower, walk into my room, and my girlfriend is holding my phone with that “GOTCHA!” look on (ladies you know exactly what I’m talking about). “Who the hell is Michelle and why are you two hanging out Saturday night at 8:30? I thought you were going out with Kevin!” Of course she doesn’t know that Michelle is throwing Kevin a surprise birthday dinner, and I don’t blame her for being upset. Even if I did, that would just make it way worse.

• The Well Wisher We’re in a recession and holiday cards are an unnecessary expense. Instead, these Mass Texters want you to know: “Merry Christmas!”, “Happy Thnxgvng!”, or “Happy N Healthy New Year!”. Wow! Thanks! Now I know you like me at least as much as the other 25 people you sent this to. The other thing that bothers me about Well Wishing is that it usually comes from someone you could care less about. It’s always that guy in the office you were reluctant to give your number to, or the kid from high school no one talks to anymore. I guess more so than the sentiment, it’s the sender of these messages that's bogus.

• The Raconteur Usually something to the affect of: “Yo last night was BANANAS! Sick time! BROOOOOOOOO!” While I value your enthusiasm and agree with the sentiment, I object sir to the format. Let's go back to the situation with the overprotective girlfriend. I do not want to have to explain beating up a bouncer, the reason my pants have a gaping hole, shitting in a trash can, getting hit on by Jennifer Love Hewitt, or that fight I got into with an eight year old (See:Passion Contusion). You may not have a girlfriend, but someone you're sending this text to certainly does. 

Bottom line: Don’t mass text, because you’ll wind up just another lonely Masshole. WHOOPS! Forgot that term was already taken by people from Massachusetts! I am Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.  

Places and Names

So far the blog that Butang and Teddy have presented has little or nothing to do with our logo. Today I will expound a little on my love for this era, as well as give you your daily dose of social commentary.

During the colonial period in American history, America was a much wilder place. I dig that idea. Recently I forced a reader of this blog to sit through PBS’s “Christmas in Yellowstone”. In HD, it is a stunning account of winter in America’s last wild frontier. Watching the spectacular images, I imagine myself on Lewis and Clark’s expedition coming across giant coyotes, geysers, and Indian chiefs. Somewhere in the middle of the flick, the bison matriarch gets stuck in a seven-foot deep snowdrift. The other bison will not move before their leader, so everyone just stands there waiting. The picture is hilarious; it looks like an irrational furry traffic jam in the midst of a blizzard. Right at the end of the shot, the narrator echoes an obvious but interesting point: “winter here is not hard for these animals, just limiting.”

            In New York City, far away from Old Faithful and Wolves, winter is not hard at all, just limiting. During this weekends’ snow I enjoyed my favorite pastime, discovering new music. I came across a new James Taylor album and on it an awesome cover of “Seminole Wind”. The song is an account of the draining of the Everglades, and the destruction of the south Florida swamp. While the Seminole wind may no longer blow, their influence remains in names. Turns out, Native American’s give some sick names!

            Some locations and tribes: Ticonderoga, Iroquois (Ir Oh Koy), Apache, Okeechobee (O Kee  Cho Bee), Micanopy (Mick A No Pee), Saratoga, Shawnee, and Sioux. Even translated by the white man, Native American Chief’s names were awesome. Would you ever fuck with someone named Sitting Bull or Crazy Legs? Doubtful.

            African Americans take a close second when it comes to names. Some personal favorites: Anfernee, Knowshon, Jermaine, Jajuan, and Jamario. People of my race sometimes like to make fun, and I feel awful when they do. As a Jew I would never name my kid Ramses (Egyptian Pharaoh), Ferdinand (Spanish Inquisition), or Adolf (You don’t need my help). So why do you suppose an African American would be satisfied naming their child Robert, James, or George? Obviously those names have no particular significance, except for the fact that they are predominantly white and white people enslaved black people. Just saying.

Furthermore I think African American’s deserve points for creativity. Gwenyth Paltrow named her kid Apple. I hate to rush to judgment, so I waited a couple of years and I still don’t get it. Since when did any random noun suffice as someone’s name? Gwenyth is playing a high stakes game of Mad Libs!

 

Following Gwenyth’s logic you could come up with the following names: 

§       A dog named “Toaster”

§       A cat named “Hose”

§       A canary named “Sweden”

§       A boy named “Zamboni”

§       A streetcar named “Desire”

 

Actually that last one doesn’t work; I just got caught up in the moment. Butang is a little sick so if you want to send him a get well wish feel free to in the comment section for this post. I’m Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.

E-Mail Safety

            The first couple of posts I wrote for this website were via my company’s computer. “No big deal, the articles are in attachments, as long as it’s not in the body of the email it should be fine.” Boy was I wrong! The day after I posted Sour Puss, “Conf Room B” flashed on my caller ID. Calls from conference rooms immediately result in one of the following: being pulled into a meeting, getting fired, or getting in trouble. None of these outcomes were in my best interest.

            My boss is in her early thirties, cute and sexy, but not a complete knockout. She has brown hair that hits her shoulders, a very nice smile, and a disconcertingly shrill tone when she is upset. Upon walking into the conference room, she greets me with said tone. “I can’t believe you wrote this shit Zach, you are supposed to be a professional.” She throws every post I had written to date in front of me. “Firm policy stipulates that I read the offending passages to you, I can’t believe I have to do this.”

            Surprisingly, I kept it together while she read Sour Puss. I did feel like a third grader getting a lecture on profanity, but it was my fault. She’s reading the conversation, ok…that’s not bad just a couple of fuck’s, “spot on mother fucker”, again not so terrible, oh shit she’s about to read… “hook you up with my roommate (WHO HAS A FOOT LONG DICK).” I have never been more physically conflicted, my jaw is clenching to fight back a cackle like the Hyena’s in the Lion King. The fact that dick just came out of her mouth is hilarious (no homo), BUT I CAN’T LAUGH! Yuck that feels awful, but that’s ok its done.

“Now I really did enjoy Brenda’s Beastly Breath,” my boss uttered, “I’m curious, how do you know what turkey jizz looks like?” ......sigh. To make sure you never encounter the email fairy, I have enclosed a list of words that you can substitute for curses. Enjoy!

 

v    Shit: SHT, SCHIT, SCHNIT, and 5H1T.

v    Fuck: PUCK (That’s enough Jonah!), PHUK, F***, or FAHK.

v    Ass: @$$, A$$, @SS, or ACE (Just for JPK)

v    Bitch: B1TCH, BITSH, or BETCH

v    Misc.: H0M0 (JONAH!), N0 H0M0, D1K, PU$$EE, PU55Y, SEEMEN, J1ZZ, GIZZ, C U Next Tuesday, or child out of wedlock. 

 

Got any I’m missing? Let me know, I need to expand my vocabulary because I am Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.    

                           

Video of the Week

Special thanks to the Hairy Freight Train on this one! 

I can't decide if my favorite part is the high pitched "Thank you Joe, Thank you Baby" or that the entire team is waiting for him. 

In any case, I am glad this man is not chasing me!

In Defense of Birthdays

            Dad told me opinions are like assholes, everybody’s got one. Pops forgot to include birthdays on that list, but for the sake of brevity I’ll let him slide. A frequent reader of The Gumption griped to me the other day: “Ted, what is it with birthdays? Every weekend someone has a party!” While I understand the sentiment, birthday parties are a worthwhile endeavor. I patted him on the back and responded: “You don’t hate birthdays, you hate Facebook.”

 

o     Issue # 1: Pre-Facebook, if it was Joe Fringefriend’s birthday, you didn’t know and you didn’t care. Now there is a small pang of guilt because you can see it’s his birthday. This feeling leads to what I call a PP or pity post. It goes a little something like this: “Happy Birthday Man! Let’s catch up soon!” I know it’s disingenuous, but Facebook has forced me to PP all over the place.

 

o     Issue # 2: Facebook has made organizing guest lists easier than ever, but with great invitational power comes great invitational responsibility. I got invited to a pregame last week with 78 other people. Huh? Poor spatial reasoning aside, even I see the ploy. They are casting a wide net so they attract a good crowd. They didn’t account for the fact that I am way too smart for this sort of stunt. I use the “x over 7 Facebook Invite Postulate©”. Take the number of invitees and divide by 7 and you get a good feeling for the numbers. My confidence interval is like + or – 5 people. On a slightly sadder note, I am now incorporating 7^th grade algebra into planning my Friday night…no binomial.

 

o     Issue # 3: Invites show you a list of those “attending” the soirée. For me the decision to go to a birthday is usually determined by glancing at said list. If the list contains enough people I like, I’m in. If the list contains a roster of women that look inviting, I’m in. If the list contains anyone named for a time of day, there is no fucking way I am showing up. Anyone named Eve or Dawn is predestined to ruin my night. FACT.

 

There you have it, and I beg you to consider the following: The more birthdays you attend; the more people will attend yours. So get out there, light some candles, make some wishes, and continue to PP freely. Hahahah that was a cheap one, but as always I am Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.