kawdog said:
Lets see who can come up with the best lie to tell VOOM.
. . .
I am sure y'all can come up with some good ones
kaw
Well, I called Voom to try to change my address. Here's my story:
Me: I signed up 5-6 months ago. I recently moved. Well, not totally. Let me explain. Last week I was driving around in the badlands of West Texas drinking a sixer.
CSR: You shouldn't drink and drive.
Me: What are you, my mother? Anyway. I was driving around, when suddenly my car completely died. Engine, electrical, everything. Then all of the sudden, a bunch of bright lights appeared. The next thing I know, I'm in a big grey room. I can't really see, but I remember being probed in a variety of places.
CSR: Sir. If I don't handle your call within 5 minutes, I get a frowny face on my personnel review. Could you skip to the point?
Me: I was about to. So after some time in the grey room, I wake up in the middle of the desert. Except I'm in someone else's body. I walk over to my car, only it's not my car. I look in the side mirrors, and it's not my face! I reach into my pocket and find some car keys and a wallet. The keys start the car, and the drivers license in the wallet matches my face.
So . . .
CSR: Are you high? This is the dumbest . . .
Me: It's rude to interrupt. That's bad customer service, and I go by the handle "squicken" on the SatelliteGuys forum. If you do your homework, you'll find I know a thing or two about bitching and moaning, and I'll sick Sean Mota on you.
CSR: squicken? Didn't you used to be cyuhnke?
Me: Yes.
CSR: Why the name change?
Me: Tax purposes. Now . . .
CSR: Tax purposes? That doesn't make sense! How . . .
Me: What'd I say about interrupting? Now shut it! So anyway, I see the license has an address on it. The car's got one of those GPS things, so I punch in the address. It's out in the middle of nowhere. But I'm thinking maybe I can get this straightened out at this guy who's body I got's house, so I decide to drive over there. So I go to this guys house, only it's like a compound. There are like 100 people there, and they all think I'm the guy who's body I've got. Then . . .
CSR: I'm sorry to interrupt, but can you please move it along?
Me: Fine. Anyway, it turns out this guy who's body I got is some sort of cult leader. It seems . . .
CSR: Cult! Why don't you go tell the cops? Wait, why am I even believing a word of . . .
Me: Can I finish? To answer your question: I was going to leave, but it turns out there are some really fine ladies in this cult. Also, as leader, it's "my" duty to mate with these women to help them on their spiritual path.
CSR: What is this "spiritual path"?
Me: I don't know. That's part of the problem. Apparently this cult doesn't really have an identity. "I" was supposed to go to the desert and meditate on our future. "I" was supposedly trying to figure out if we were going to be a cult that cuts off our nuts and kills ourselves, or a cult that collects guns and dies in a shootout with the Feds. I can see why "I" went to the desert. I'm certainly not going to cut off my nuts, and I don't like deadly shootouts. I think I'm going to go with "More sex with leader is key to happiness" as our philosophy.
CSR: Won't they be suspicious of the change in philosophy?
Me: It's not exactly a Mensa convention around here. They haven't caught on to me yet, despite the fact that I can't remember "my" name. But anyway, the purpose of this call is to get the NBC-HD channel though the satellite. We have no local affiliate, as I'm in what they call a white area.
CSR: You're worried about satellite service! What about your old job? Your old life? Don't you worry about this other person having your body? What about the aliens who switched your bodies?
Me: First off, apparently this guy who's body I got is a bit of a nutter. I doubt he'll have the wherewithal to know what's going on. Second, in this transaction I've gotten three inches (if you know what I mean), a washboard stomach, a nice tan, and a better hairline. As for the aliens, I'm guessing they'll keep their heads low until the whole
Alien vs. Predator backlash subsides. Plus, "I'm" rich as hell.
CSR: Is your group taking new members?
Me: Not if you're ugly, and you sound ugly. Anyway, I went to "my" old place and moved the equipment to the compound, but I want the bills to keep going to my old address. I'm keeping that address because I don't want to have to explain to friends and family what's going on right now. I need to figure out a way to explain this to them, but I can't quite come up with a good explanation that they would believe. So anyway, can you authorize the channels?
CSR: Well, let me ask my supervisor. [Puts "me" on hold] OK, I talked to my supervisor. Apparently, and I'm reading straight from the lease agreement "in the event that the customer, through act of God, nuclear explosion,
alien intervention, supervillian genetic tampering, or any other act or process by which customer's brain or spirit is transposed into a different body, the customer is said to be the person who's body initiated the lease." So technically, sir, you aren't even a Voom customer. But I can set you up right now with service. For $199, we will install . . .
Me: I'm aware of the current offer. But installation fees are against my religion. By my religion, of course, I mean my cult's philosophy.
CSR: I thought your cult's philosophy was "More sex with leader is key to happiness"?
Me: Well, our new philosophy is now "More sex with leader is key to happiness, and it is a sin to pay for installation of satellite television service!" So I guess I'll have to take "my" business elsewhere. Thank you.
I guess we can add "aliens stole my brain" to the list of stories that won't get Olympic channel.