Not Always Right
This is a hilarious (and sometimes disturbing) site about the bizarre and funny things customers say and do. I think it’s PG, but I haven’t read enough to be certain.
Here’s three fine examples:
Medical Training These Days Is Shocking
Me: “Hello this is [name] from [college] returning your call. What can I do for you?”
Student: “Hi, I was calling to find out–”
<(A very loud noise erupts in the background. Yelling, laughing, and a strange buzzing sound ensues.)
Student: *sounding embarrassed* “Sorry about that. I work at a hospital and it’s really quiet today. Everyone’s playing Operation (the game).”
Me: *laughing* “Ma’am, you just made my day.”
Eating Steak On Rare Occasions
Customer: “I would like the 12 oz. New York Strip.”
Me: “Excellent, sir. How would you like that prepared? There is a description of all of our options on your menu.”
Customer: “Rare! And I mean extra rare! I want the cow to still be mooing on my plate!”
Me: “Alright, sir. We can do that for you. Would you–”
Customer: “I need you to write extra rare! I want it dripping blood. That is how a real man eats steak! That burnt stuff isn’t for real men! Extra rare!”
(This continues for a few minutes, until I assure the customer that I will speak to the manager in order to be sure that his steak is extra rare. I put in an order for a ‘Black and Blue’. This steak is more rare than the usual; the inside is cool and the outside seared. As promised, I tell the manager about the customer’s specific request. After I serve the food, I get flagged down by the customer.)
Customer: “What is this? This is cold! How long has it been sitting there?”
Me: “Sir, I assure you I brought your dishes out as soon as they were finished.”
Customer: “Then what is wrong with your cooks? They don’t bother cooking my food? Why is it cold?”
Me: ”Sir, you ordered your steak to be extra rare. As it explains on the menu, this means that the internal temperature of the steak will be cool.”
Customer: “What is wrong with you people? Who wants a cold steak? I never said I wanted a cold steak! I saw extra rare! That means the middle part is pink and hot! Who can eat this raw cold
stuff!”
Me: ”I apologize for the misunderstanding, sir. I can alert the management and have them make another steak for you.”
Customer: “No! I am not eating anywhere that sells food raw! This is disgusting. You people should be reported! Come on honey, let’s go to that sushi place next door!”
As Helpless As A Baby
Me: “Welcome to *** Airlines. How can I help today?”
Caller: “I need to book a ticket for my husband for May 3rd, from Tampa to Grand Rapids, Michigan.”
Me: “Thanks. Would he prefer morning, afternoon, or evening flights?”
Caller: “What does that mean?”
Me: “The morning flight leaves in the morning, at 6:45 am. The afternoon flight leaves at 1:20 pm in the afternoon. The evening flight leaves at 6:25 pm.”
Caller: “Can he get there in time?”
Me: “I don’t know, ma’am. That depends on where he’s leaving from, and how far he has to drive to the airport.”
Caller: “Oh. And those are all on May 3rd?”
Me: “Yes, ma’am.”
Caller: “My doctor’s inducing my labor on May 2nd. Will he get here in time?”
Me: “I really don’t know how long your labor will last, ma’am. That’s something you should probably consult your doctor about.”
Caller: “But is May 2nd the same day?”
Me: *baffled* “The same day as…?”
Caller: “The same day as May 3rd!”
Me: “No, ma’am. May 3rd is the day after May 2nd.”
Caller: “But what if it’s 5 in the morning?”
Me: “It’s either 5 in the morning on May 2nd, or 5 in the morning on May 3rd.”
Caller: “But is it the same day?”
Me: “Maybe you should have your husband call to book his own flight, because he’ll know how long it takes to get to the airport.”
Caller: “That’s a good idea. Should he book it for May 2nd or May 3rd?”
Me: “You should probably ask your doctor first.”
Caller: “I guess. You people make it so complicated to buy a ticket!”
Heh. Saw this and couldn’t resist:
A-moooo-sing Customers
(I am on a school trip to a mall to help with pet adoption forms. A customer comes up.)
Customer: “Gimme a f***ing dog!”
Me: “Would you like an adoption form?”
Customer: “I don’t care. I just want a dog! There’s one over there! Gimme it!”
(I look to where he is pointing. A lady is walking a dog.)
Me: “I’m sorry, but that dog doesn’t belong to us.”
Customer: “It’s because I’m [ethnicity that he clearly is not], isn’t it? ”
(At this point, I realize that he is high.)
Me: “Oh, that one is ours. Unfortunately, it is an evil space cow.”
Customer: “Holy s***!” *runs off*
Encounter with a bushranger
This is an extract from “Australian Bushrangers” by George Boxall (not recommended for younger readers):
[A Sydney tollman sharing a pipe with a stranger was rather alarmed when it turned out the stranger was the notorious bushranger Jackey Jackey.]
“Ain’t you afraid of being took?” asked the tollman. Jackey laughed. “I’d like to see who’ll stop me while I’ve these little bull-dogs about me,” he said, tapping his pistols. He stood chatting while he smoked, regardless of the fact that Grose’s farm, now the grounds of the Sydney University, was within a stone’s-throw of the toll-bar. He offered the tollman some money and asked him to go to the public house for some rum. The tollman replied, “I can’t leave the bar.” “All right,” returned Jackey, “then I’ll get it myself.” He went away to Toogood’s inn and returned in a few minutes with a half-pint of rum. He gave some to the toll-keeper and took a stiff glass himself. Then he shook hands with the tollman, mounted his horse, and rode on.
Dialogue
Want to write good dialogue? This article at Ripping Ozzie Reads has links to so much information you can go back to it every week for a year.
Dynamic Dialogue
Last week Rita asked about ‘beats’ in dialogue. This was a term I had only seen used in plays or scripts when the author leaves a ‘beat’ before the character answers to create suspense.
It appears the term ‘beat’ has been applied by writers as a form of tag, only this tag drives the story forward with action or reveal character reaction.
A dialogue tag can be:
‘How dare you!’ she said.
It can also be:
She slammed the mug down on the table. ‘How dare you!’
In this case the action is the tag because it identifies the speaker and tells us how the character is feeling. And this is what people are calling ‘beats’. It is what I was told was an ‘action tag’ when I first started writing.
For a fuller explanation. . .
Read the rest here.
And here’s your official cat pic of the week:
A steampunk series (that’s actually dieselpunk fantasy)
For CJ’s birthday, I bought him “The Laws of Magic: Hour of Need” by Michael Pryor. I was pleasantly surprised to discover it’s the last book in the series (most writers who get past three books can’t seem to stop).
The series is about Aubrey FitzWilliam, son of the PM in an alternate reality where an evil sorceror aims to start World War 1. Aubrey is very magically gifted, brave, and loyal to his (rather excellent) parents.
First of all, the important questions when a series ends:
1. Did it really end – are all loose ends tied up as well as they should be? Yes.
2. Is it satisfying/does it have the feeling of an end? Yes.
3. Did the writer get sick of their series and rush through when they glimpsed the end of all that work? Maaaayyybe, a little. This should be the strongest (or second-strongest, after book 1), and in my opinion it’s only okay (although the series as a whole is pretty good, so that’s in context).
Backing up slightly, what do I think of the steampunk-ness of the series?
I like it. Steampunk often has a strong bent towards technology, which I tend to find a little dull compared to magic. This series has a unique and effective magic system. It’s rare when a book manages to “show, not tell” that the hero is magically gifted (because first you have to educate the reader on how it works), but these books absolutely do. It’s instantly understandable, and instantly impressive – with no list of “This is what this array of magical devices does”.
The world itself has a sense of honour and courage which I always enjoy. Plus, airships. The plots are exciting and I particularly loved a large plot about the consequences of Aubrey’s inexperience early on in the series – which continues to have an impact in the very end.
How about the characters?
I hate them. Hate them, hate them, hate them. Especially Aubrey. And his best friend (very much a “Watson” type character). Oh, and the love interest.
They’re just sooooooo, soooooooo irritating. Specifically, they’re pompous – Aubrey worst of all. (In addition to being a sexist idiot – which, given the strength of his mum and female friends, can’t be excused by the historical period.) Even the neutral narrator is pompous. The entire “voice” of the series irritates me.
It took me quite a while to get into the books, because they work really hard at being funny. I almost never like that (even Terry Pratchett, who I know intellectually is a genius, feels like an amateur to me – humour has that effect on me when it’s written down). Then I got into them, and found them funny. Then irritating again. Then mildly amusing.
CJ likes the books better than I do, but often stops dead as Aubrey does something especially stupid. He leaves it for several weeks or months, then grits his teeth and jumps back in.
I’ve read the whole series, and no-one made me do it – but I was relieved to finally be finished with it. I doubt I’ll read Michael Pryor again – but you never know.
(Next time I review a book, I’ll pick one I actually like 🙂 ).
Move House
One of my friends recently bought a flat. It’s so incredibly exciting to watch all the drama unfold, and have no actual financial responsibility of my own.
I saw the flat before she moved in, when it had the tenants’ furniture in it. I wanted so badly to see it when it was completely empty and pristine, but I was too sick and had to settle for photos. Still cool, though, and I can’t wait until I’m well enough to go and see it in its fully-moved-in state.
CJ and two other manly men helped her move in – scoffing at stairs, and making the move way more exciting by using the “direct route” (observe the couch cushion on the left):
Congratulations, Ann – you’ve done an amazing thing.
Like a macabre Bo Peep. . . (PG for illness)
. . . I carry a bucket wherever I go.
Things that have caused me to vomit:
1. Walking past food.
2. Sitting at a table (as opposed to lying down, which is where I am for twenty hours of each day).
3. Taking a shower.
4. Brushing my teeth.
Last Friday my period would have been due. One of the best things about pregnancy is having no periods. I was especially looking forward to that, since Curtis women have rather nasty periods. However, I observed last time my period was due that I had absolutely everything I’d normally have in a period – cramps, illness, etc – except the blood. This “period” was similarly unpleasant, except I’m much sicker than I was a month ago.
And so it was that I threw up, on myself, in front of a student (he’s fine; handily distracted by going downstairs to play with Ana, and by my ability to calmly converse while spewing).
The rule of thumb is that if you can’t keep anything down, you go to hospital. Since I was throwing up water, and had lost over three kilos in two weeks (it’s now 5.5 kilos in three weeks), I thought, “Maybe I’ve done enough now and can get better treatment.” My doctor was closed for the weekend, so I found a health advice line to ask whether I should go to hospital or not.
The lady on the advice line asked a few questions about other minor symptoms (some of which I knew could be portentous), then said, “Yes you should go to hospital – within the next four hours.” I figured something had thrown up a red flag, and wasn’t concerned – just hopeful that I’d get me some more betterer drugs.
When we saw a doctor, she did absolutely no tests (not even for dehydration) and said, “Yeah, those health lines tell every pregnant woman to come in – otherwise you might have an unrelated miscarriage and sue them.” (Something which, incidentally, clearly didn’t concern HER.)
And that was our second hospital visit. The doctor did say a lot of women improve in week ten (that’d be one week from now), which I’m clinging to in hope despite the fact she was almost certainly lying through her teeth in order to get rid of me more quickly. She also made the valid point that hospital doctors don’t know me, and can’t treat me as well as my regular GP – who should be “monitoring” me.
And so it was that my Mum made a Tuesday (yesterday) appointment with the doctor who has treated my entire immediate family since time immemorial (ie NOT the one who said if I was “really sick” I’d have acupuncture).
Usually mornings are my best time, but the whole “period” period had been unusually bad, and I was unable to eat at all that morning. I had a shower and threw up – nothing but bile and air, since there was nothing else (I also hadn’t had anything for dinner the previous night, and nothing but an energy drink for lunch the previous day).
Mum picked me up and drove me the half hour to my childhood doctor. I told the doctor I was pregnant; she was thrilled (she knew I was trying – she keeps up to date with all our family gossip). I told her I was on Maxolon but still hideously ill; she immediately prescribed stronger drugs (namely, Ondaz Zydis). Then we had a brief chat about how barbaric it is that medical professionals continue to say, “Oh, you’re pregnant. Whatever illness you’re going through is therefore normal.”
So here I am at Week 9, on much better drugs. I ate solid food for dinner last night (for the first time in two weeks), then got overexcited and brushed my teeth like a mad fool. That didn’t end well.
At this stage, I don’t know if I can stomach a second pregnancy (probably I can, considering I get a human being at the end). I do know I’ll be seeing a doctor who actually believes me when I say I’m sick, and who cares enough to want to make it stop.
In unrelated pleasant news, a children’s book I wrote was shortlisted (ie it came either third or fourth) in the “Voices on the Coast” contest. That’s the third time one of my novels has placed in a contest (all different novels, too).
Piper’s Lookout
Way back in Summer, when CJ and I were on our way back from our Merimbula holiday, we stopped off about half an hour along the road to admire Piper’s Lookout.
Mr Piper was (by all accounts) an heroic busdriver who traversed the mountain road hundreds of times. The lookout is beautiful, with panoramic views and winding paths into the trees.
Guide to the Australian Bogan
Bogans. They’re everywhere. There’s a little bit of bogan in all of us – unfortunately.
Some of the major types of bogan:
1. The standard bogan.
The standard bogan is a little like the American redneck, with a strong smattering of white trash thrown in. They are usually country dwellers (easily spotted by the broader Australian accent), undereducated, and overopinionated. Standard bogans move in packs and are suspicious of all outsiders.
A bogan woman’s purpose is to catch a man and have little bogans. She achieves this goal by being (often artificially) blonde, (often artificially) tanned, and by wearing as little fabric as is legally possible. Once married, she has achieved her life goal and can either (a) Stop worrying about her appearance ever again, or (b) Become rapidly pickled in her teen-queen state, maintaining it as long as possible despite having an inceasingly leathery skin texture. The most bogan female name is Sharon, aka “Shazza”.
A bogan man’s purpose is to have beer, and sex. He will probably require some kind of blue collar work and/or the dole to achieve this. The most bogan male name is Barry, aka “Bazza”. I once met a couple called Barry and Sharon (not their fault).
2. The travelling bogan.
The travelling bogan goes to Bali, wears even less clothes than usual (probably literally unaware that Bali is part of the Scary and Muslim nation of Indonesia), talks loudly, gets even more tanned and/or drunk, and if female gets their hair done in those tiny braids.
Although this bogan is probably the second-most embarrassing bogan, they never leave the Kuta Beach area and hang out mainly in Australian bars. They are thus largely familiar and harmless to the residents (who can simply avoid them when they’re dangerously drunk, ie awake). Unlike. . .
3. The nationalistic bogan.
Most Australians are frankly suspicious of nationalistic fervour – after all, it’s precisely what killed most of our indigenous people. (We only turn patriotic in response to absurd claims of superiority from other nations, which are patently untrue.) We are a “new” country (99% of the population arrived in the last two hundred years), as well as being emotionally tied to Britain and the USA, but physically tied to a whole bunch of countries that are utterly different to us (with the exception of New Zealand, which we love like they love sheep). This makes Australia one of the most multicultural nations on Earth.
The nationalistic bogan has a huge problem with this, and strenuously objects to “all those foreigners” who should “go back where they came from”. To which our indigenous people roll their eyes and say, “Wouldn’t that have been nice?”
4. The ironic bogan.
All Australians have an Australian accent. All Australians live a slightly sheltered life (we’re an island, after all). All Australians are dumb sometimes. All Australians – like all people – are a little bit racist. Some of us choose to remind ourselves we’re not so smart after all by embracing the harmless side of being bogan. Here’s a beginner’s guide:
“Australia” is pronounced “Straya”.
“Target” (a cheap clothing chain) is pronounced “Tar-shay”.
“Champagne” is pronounced “Champers” or “Sham-PAG-nee”.
This picture is of Felicity Ward, a comedian from Woy Woy, who is an ironic bogan.
5. The cashed-up bogan
This type of bogan has a lot in common with the denizens of the Jersey Shore (I’m basing this on ads for the show). They have money, but no taste. Think leopard print, extreme plastic surgery, and unironic white-person bling. Somehow, the C.U.B. STILL doesn’t actually have a job.
Note: The New Zealand bogan, in sharp contrast to the Australian bogan, tends to be OVER-educated, to fit badly into most social groups (generally because of overintelligence and/or a lack of respect for the fashions handed down from on high), and to be more accepting of other outsiders.
A New Zealand metalhead bogan, my friend SteffMetal.com:
Victorian London
http://www.victorianlondon.org/ is packed with wonderfully vivid primary sources. If you used a book like “Victorian London” by Liza Picard to get an overview, then read through the bits of this site that appealed, I think you’d have an excellent sense of the time and place.
Here’s what the site has on rain, for example:
He who has not seen it rain in London, has not seen London; and I had this pleasure the morning I went to see the Tunnel under the Thames. Then I understood how, in such weather, one can be seized with the temptation to give one’s self a pistol shot. The houses drip as if sweating; the water seems not only to descend from the heavens, but also to ooze from the walls and ground; the sombre colors of the buildings turn yet gloomier and take on an oleaginous look; the beginnings of the streets seem like entrances to grottos; everything seems foul, used up, mouldy, and sinister; the eye knows not whither to turn, not to meet something disagreeable; one feels shudderings, which have the effect of a sudden attack of misfortune; one feels an irksome sense of weariness, a disgust with everything, an inexpressible wish to go out like a lamp from this weary world.
Edmondo de Amicis Jottings about London (trans), 1883
It also has plenty of maps like this one, from 1899:
Ten Reasons to Rewrite that Scene
By The Intern.
The article is here.
Top Ten Reasons You Should Rewrite That Scene
10. The scene is not really a scene.
Your scene is not a scene if nothing has changed by the end of it.
Your scene is not a scene if there was no internal or external conflict, no matter how subtle.
Your scene is not a scene if you were too timid to let anything dangerous happen.
Your scene is not a scene if you were too cautious to let anything unexpected happen.
Your scene is not a scene if the reader is banging her head against the wall saying “What was the point of that stupid scene?”
Basically, your scene is not a scene.
9. The scene doesn’t achieve anything new.
Does your scene introduce important new plot information? How about new emotional information? Are the characters’ relationships developing? Or is this scene just rehashing material you’ve already covered in other scenes? You might have a case of scenis redundanitus (see here for INTERN’s post on that subject). If your scene doesn’t bring anything new to the table, what’s it doing in your story?
8. The scene isn’t “worse” enough.
Read more here.
And here’s my older cat’s response to the prodigal’s return:
Felicity Banks 