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[all this as of last evening]

There was a very irate respondent who called in last night. She was determined to make everyone here just as miserable as phone calls to her (allegedly 16 or so of them, all from us, though when I looked up her number after verifying that it was removed, it said it was 7 calls spread out over 4 days) and I think I obliged her -- by the end of the call, when I was sounding just as frustrated and snippy as she was, she cut loose with just being sheerly nasty, when I was trying to help answer her questions and she WASN'T LISTENING TO ME, and that eventually resulted in me banging the fuck out of the phone when I hung up. Not a good scene.

It does, however, make very entertaining re-telling, of the escalation of the call. I am known for generally having patience and keeping my cool. I can re-tell it in a fashion that left Trader Joe's Queen Monitor giggling. The primary source of amusement is in fact my mounting rage and the inept way in which I handled not screaming at the respondent.

I got to write up an e-mail detailing the course of events for Stressy College Chick, who had bugged out of the building with cigarettes and all, intent on not coming back until the woman was off the phone, or perhaps even leaving until the next day.

Not that I entirely blame her. She fought with the floor before coming to work, and the floor won. She's wearing a hand brace today, and hoping that it's just wrenched some instead of sprained or hairline fractured or anything.

I am on the $ISSUE_SIDE_JOB team, perhaps forever. This is not a bad thing. This is a good thing.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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