Week 51
Week 52
Week 53
Week 54
Week 55
Week 56
Week 57
Week 58
Week 59
Week 60

Weeks 61-present

Week Fifty-Two - Sunday, 18 March 2001
We made it, friends. One year's worth of OSB. 52 Fucks now decorate our hallowed halls. <sniff> I'm so proud. But I digress. This week's fuck is karmicly similiar to the very first, and greatest, Fuck of the Week. Not only are they both Floridians, but they're for the very same cable company. While this week's fuck wasn't anywhere near as violent (I'm sure it was that British upbringing keeping him back), he was just as unreasonable about something unbelievably stupid. Read, enjoy, and reflect on the year of hardship we have endured to entertain you.

I adore repeat callers. Like this guy in Florida, who was having trouble with his phone. (Point of interest, we've been handling calls for this cable account for about two years now, and this was the first call for their telephone service we've gotten in that time. We were taken aback by his claims that the cable company did his phone too, and were sure he had the wrong number. So either their phone service is impeccible [difficult to believe , given the quality of their cable], or this guy is their lone phone customer.) Anyway, the guy was quite British indeed - usually a tranquilizing affect on my nervous system, except when they sound like they were born and bred in Buckingham Palace. A self-important, slimy, stuck-up ponce, I can do without in my day, particularly one in Florida. But I digress. So he calls back for the fourth time in ten minutes, demanding to know what's going on with his phone ("What is the prognosis?" "You're brain dead, sir. Did you want to ask about your phone now?") I told him we'd notified the on-call tech of the problem, which was all we could do. (Note that this is the same cable company who tells us that 100 calls doesn't constitute an "outage", so I was inwardly tickled that this guy was SoL.) He didn't like that. They never do.

Him:  So you can't give me an ETA.
Me:  That is correct.
Him:  The technicians didn't tell you how long it would take.
Me:  Correct.
Him:  Let me talk to the technician.
Me:  Sorry sir, I can't put you through to him.
Him:  Well how do you propse that I contact the United Kingdom?
Me:  I'd propose that you dial 0-1-1, the country code and the phone number.
Him:  And how would I do that without a dial tone?
Me:  The same way you called me..?
Him:  I'm using my cellular phone.
Me:  <unable to resist letting her own accent creap in> Then perhaps use the dial tone on your cellular phone to contact the United Kingdom.
Him:  <ignoring the logic> Will Crappy Cable reimburse me for all the money I'm losing by not being able to use my phone?
Me:  I don't know sir, you'd have to ask them when they reopen.
Him:  Can I sue Crappy Cable for this loss?
Me:  You'd have to ask the office or your lawyer, sir. I am neither.
Him:  Well you're useless. You're about as helpful as a thumb screw.
Me:  The feeling is mutual, sir. Good night.

Week Fifty-Three - Sunday, 25 March 2001
It was just too ripe a social commentary to not grace with our fair award. Pity the child.

From the "Did you really think this out?" department ... A woman called a 24-hour adoption hotline. What she didn't know was that it was a line for putting your unborn baby up for adoption, not to adopt the little brats, which was what she was looking for. I started to give her the number she would need to call when she cut me off. "Is that long distance?" she asked. I confirmed that if she was not in the same area code, then yes, it was indeed long distance, and she told me that her phone was restricted from making long distance calls. Hmm. That's pretty drastic, they only do that after some pretty expensive bills you never paid. So, you're a delinquent coniving invaluable customer to your own phone company ... and you want to adopt someone's kid? Sort of sums up modern parenthood in America without saying a word, doesn't it?

Week Fifty-Four - Sunday, 1 April 2001
Not bothering to think is one problem in today's world... But even worse are people who start to think, get to almost the point where effort is involved, decide that the rest might actually require "work" and decide it's best to assume the rest. This happens all the time in regard to people ordering products from us, assuming the special they heard for $10 off was actually getting the product for $10, or that "free shipping" means "free product, you just pay the shipping." But then you get guesses which just defy all logic and reasoning, like this week's winner. I would have paid good money to see just what he assumed we would do with his zip code, or what the magnets inside the mattress pad looked like, if there weren't the possibility of becoming contaminated with his thought processes...

People just seem to keep getting stupider by the minute, which is quite alarming when you consider that they already ranked below toaster ovens to start with. This guy in particular bugged me. He was calling for the magnetic mattress pad, but was clearly in need of more dire assistance than a magnet would fix. After a barrage of innane, yet answerable questions, the man asked me how many magnets were in the twin size pad. Not having all that memorized, I requested his zip code so I could look it up in the computer. This prompted a new stream of interrogation about why I needed it, as though his zip code -- a number shared by hundreds, if not thousands of other people -- gave me some secret and mysterious power to govern his life. (I almost wish it did, I'd be abusing it mightily right about now.) It's a zip code. I think we can share this information with strangers and feel little fear. Finally working through his paranoia, I answered his question -- 280 magnets. "280,000?" he asked. What? From which orifice did you pull "thousand", and how stupid do you have to be to think that anyway? If they're atom-sized, maybe so, but geez. And given that I'd already told him the ~4000 gauss rating on for each magnet, we're looking at a mattress pad that you'd really get attached to. Hell, I think that sucker would be included in some super-villain's mad scheme to pull the earth out of orbit. Oh, but wait, there's more. After making me go through all this, he says "Load me some information." I didn't go into the biological function this statement brought to mind, but given my mood, I was sorely tempted. After explaining the options available to him (web site or SASE), and letting him know that what he wanted and what he would have were two very different things indeed, he hung up. Thank the gods.

Week Fifty-Five - Saturday, 7 April 2001
This nation is sue-happy. You look at somebody the wrong way, and they're threatening to slap a law suit on you. Much like everything else that the majority of the population fixates on, this practice is pointless and stupid. It's because of these idiots that my car insurance is so high. It's because of these idiots that doctors live in fear of doing their job. On the other hand, however, it's because of these idiots that we have a Fuck of the Week.

A cable customer from Pennsylvania called in to say that she would be suing the cable company for tresspassing on her property. Apparently she was deliquent on her bill and they came to disconnect the cable, but she nevertheless assured me that they would be going to court. Oh, how I'd love to be picked for that jury...

Week Fifty-Six - Sunday, 15 April 2001
I'm unsure how to introduce this one. What can we possibly say to supplement a call of such quality?

A cable caller repeatedly and adamantly said she had no street address. I used the old catchall, asking her how the police would find her. "They don't," she said, "people are robbing me all the time and hte police said, 'If you can't catch them redhanded yourself, then tough'." And you know, when a customer can tell you that with a straight face, a cable outage is the least of their worries.

Week Fifty-Seven - Tuesday, 24 April 2001
I find it difficult to articulate my loathing for these kinds of people. If you listen to politicians, they'll try to convince you that everything wrong with the world can be attributed to the media -- video games, movies, television, etc. What they seem to neglect to acknowledge that it all boils down to one source: the parent. The generally accepted idea of parenthood these days is to pop a kid out, and then let TV take care of the rest. I've lost count of the number of callers I've had, on the verge of hysteria because the cable's out and they might actually have to <gasp!> deal with their children. Need further proof that Doom isn't to blame for the downfall of socity? Read on.

A woman calling about her cable in Florida became hostile and quite unreasonable the moment I picked up the line. Apparently, the cable outage, which was affecting her entire area, had "freaked out" her children, who were home alone watching television. We know that parents use television as a babysitter too much, but this feels excessive even in today's world. Of course, the woman herself may have gotten a similar upbringing which stunted her common sense. Why else would she threaten to sue the cable company for the "trauma" her children "endured"?

Week Fifty-Eight - Sunday, 29 April 2001
I don't take orders well. I guess you could say I have something of an issue with authority. But I particularly don't take orders well from ignorant, irrational, inbred fuckers like this woman.

I wish people would keep their mouths shut on matters which they have no knowledge. The world would be a much quieter place. It could certainly do without hearing from this Floridian woman. She was quite distraught that she could not order PPV. Sadly, there was nothing I could do for her save give her the office's hours for tomorrow.

Her:  Why can't I order the movie?
Me:  I don't know, ma'am, you'll have to ask the office in the morning.
Her:  Well you wait while I find another movie I want to try to order.
Me:  There's nothing I can do about PPV, ma'am. My being on the line won't help you in any way.
Her:  You listen to me. You sit there and you wait since that's what you're paid to do!!
Me:  I'm paid to field calls for this company after hours. I have done all I can for your problem, thus completed the job I am paid to do. Good night.

Week Fifty-Nine - Tuesday, 8 May 2001
I wonder why it is that people, once freed from the burden of dealing with a person face-to-face, turn into such pricks? It's a truth that we quickly learn on the Internet, and sadly, the same is true for the telephone. I suppose it's the feeling of security and protection from dealing with the consequences of one's words and actions. I know that if I could, I would've beaten hundreds, if not thousands, of people into a bloody pulp by now had they been before me and pulled crap like this.

I'm not sure if this guy was drunk, derranged, bored, or all of the above, but whatever his excuse, I was lucky enough to get him all three times he called into a California pledge line.

Call One:

Me:  K-R-A-P, are you calling to make a pledge?
Him:  Is this the zoo?
Me:  No, you have the wrong number.
Him:  NO I DON'T!
Me:  Yes. You do.
Him:  NO I DO-- <click>

Call Two:

This time he confirmed that he did indeed wish to pledge, but could not give me his zip code. He maintained that I shouldn't need it if he could tell me his city. I disagreed. He yelled. I hung up.

Call Three:

He tried again, this time with a 6-digit zip code. I told him that zip codes were 5-digits long, and he started screaming that I was calling him a liar. Probably needless to say, this call went the way of the previous two.

Week Sixty - No Winner
Much as I hate to go away on a neutral note, there just wasn't anybody this week worthy of winning The Award. We'll try again in two weeks.