I had to call Laura in the management office today of my apartment complex today, and I was hit in the face with a wet slab of retardation. Let's watch a re-enactment:
Me: Hi, can I talk to Laura?
Girl: What building?
Me: Um, the management office? Your building.
Girl: Wait, what building?
Me: 78/79 York. The management office. She works there. [She's your boss, you stupid cow!]
Girl: Please hold.
[Shakira music. Rock out.]
Girl: Thanks for holding.
Me: ....
Girl: ....
Me: Is this Laura?
Girl: No.
Me: Ummm...
Girl: She's not in the office right now. Do you want her voicemail?
Me: No, I already left her something this morning. Can I just have her direct number?
Girl: That is her direct number.
Me: Yeah, give it to me so I can call later.
Girl: *Connects me to Laura'a voicemail*
How does this species even survive?
and then what happened?
ReplyDeleteI tried again later and got Laura, who told me I had to see in March if anything was available, which the person in the rental office should have just told me in the first place.
ReplyDelete