American Countdown!

(Thu 18th Dec 2008, 16:59, More)

» Call Centres

Sometimes, it pays to listen.
First of all, everything written below is true and is virtually word-for-word a transcript of the conversation. I have changed names for obvious reasons. Apologies in advance for the lack of funneh.

Picture the scene: It's a snowy December's night somewhere north of the Watford Gap. Thanks to a small fuckup involving a patient the size of a whale and my back, I am now on light duties in the ambulance control room. It's coming up to 1am, there's a force 8 gale and blizzard battering the control room.

*BEEP*

UCC: "Ambulance Service"

Operator: "Blackburn connecting phone number 01234567890"

UCC: "Thank you operator. Go ahead caller. What's the address please?"

Caller: "Um..I'm at the junction of Any Street and Thingy Road in Arsetown (insert name of quite scroaty town here.)"

UCC: "OK, I've got that address. What's the problem tonight?"

Caller (sounds like a young lad) "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I didn't know who else to call."

U: That's OK, just tell us what the problem is and we'll get something sorted.

Caller: I'm really really cold. I've been out on the street all day and I'm freezing. I've tried the police and they gave me a number for a hostel but I've got no cash on me and I can't feel my feet now.

U: (clicking through questions) OK, what's your name?

C: It's Luke

U: OK Luke, my name's Carrot. I'm just going to ask a few questions. They're not going to delay us getting any help to you.

C: (starts crying) I'm really sorry. I'm so sorry.

U: Hey, that's OK. Don't worry.

C: I'm just wasting your time, I'm just wasting everyone's time...

U: (I stop typing). Listen Luke, you're not wasting anyone's time. I'm here until 7 in the morning, so you can take as long as you want.

C: Well, I dunno who to talk to or anything.

U: Well you can talk to me.

C: Well....I told my mum at lunch that I'm gay. I've got this boyfriend and he's great and everything so I thought I should tell her because I love him, and I love her.

U: Right...

C: So I told her, and she told me to get out of the house, that she didn't want to know me if I was a fucking fag, and she wasn't having me in her house. So she shoved me out the front door. I got my coat but my wallet and my mobile is still at home.

U: OK...

C: I had a few coins in my pocket so I phoned my boyfriend to hope he'd take me in.

U: Does he live with his parents too?

C: No, he's 32.

U: Right, and how old are you?

C: I'm 17. I'll be 18 next month.

U: OK, so what happened?

C: He just laughed and said I was a stupid cunt, and hung up on me.

U: He hung up on you?

C: Yeah.

U: I see.

C: So then I just wandered town. A nice lady bought me a cup of tea in the cafe, but now everything's closed and I've got nowhere to go. It's my fault. It's my fault for being gay. I shouldn't be gay...(breaks down in tears.)

U: Right Luke, stop right there. There is NOTHING wrong with being gay. Don't let two silly people make you feel otherwise. I'm gay too, and I know exactly how it feels to be on the receiving end of stupid idiots like that. But it worked out for me and it'll work out for you. Now we need to get you sorted out first of all. Do you have any relatives or friends nearby?

C: No, we just moved here from (another town about 20 miles away) so I know nobody apart from my boyfriend.

U: Right, this is what I am going to do. I am going to send an ambulance to you, not on blue lights but they will be with you shortly, OK? They will look after you and get you warmed up.

C: Oh God, what about college? I'm doing my A-levels....

U: Let's not worry about that at the moment. Let's get you sorted first. Can you give me the number of the hostel?

C: Yeah, it's 019876543321

U: OK, I'll get onto them and get that sorted. I'm going to give you my direct number when you get sorted at hospital, so ring me as soon as possible from the hospital, or if that fails, call 999 and ask to speak to Carrot.

C: Thank you. Thank you so much.

U: The ambulance crew should be with you now.

C: Yeah I can see them.

U: OK, I'm going to terminate the call now. Let me know how you get on.

C: Thanks so much. Bye.

U: Bye.


So I went and got the hostel sorted (despite an argument with a stroppy warden about him being under 18). At 6am, I get a phonecall on my direct phone.

U: Ambulance control, Carrot speaking.

C: Hi Carrot, it's Luke.

U: Hi Luke. How are you doing?

C: I'm much better thanks. I've got the nurse with me who wants to have a word.

Nurse: Hello, is that the calltaker?

U: Yes it is.

N: I thought you might like to know - Luke was so cold when we got him here that he was clinically hypothermic. 20 minutes more outside and he would be dead. He's fine now he's dried out and warmed up.

U: Well, that's great news. I've managed to get a hostel sorted.

N: Well, what's the address? We will pay the taxi fare for him.

So Luke got into the hostel, where he stayed over Christmas. He then moved back to where he used to live where he moved in with his Dad.

Luke is now 21 years old. He finished college with 2 A's and a C at A level and went to university. He has just finished his final year and looks set to get a 1st in his degree. He is one of the nicest, most well rounded young men I have ever had the fortune to meet...and I was lucky enough to meet him. He's had a few relationships, some good, some shite, but now he seems to be with a lovely, and quite frankly barking, bloke who clearly loves him to bits.

So I should feel proud and warm inside? Well I should, but I was very close to telling him to fuck off and stop wasting our time within the first 30 seconds of the call because I was tired and busy.

Sometimes it really does pay to listen.
(Fri 4th Sep 2009, 19:07, More)

» Nightclubs

Quim! There!
I was once in one of Newcastle's classier* late night drinking establishments, of which there are many. It was a Wednesady night, which was student night. The particular special of the night was double vodka and cokes for £1.50. Now, myself and my esteemed colleagues (more about them in other posts if I can muster the courage) were not that fussy about the nature of the beverage, as long as it was cheap, so vast quantities of vodka and coke were purchased and drunk. Repeat....

Anyway, we were by no means the only people acceeding to the "let's get absolutely wankered on cheap russian falling over water". There were many ladies present, mostly being perved over by my mates. I took the opportunity to leave and have a slash. The toilets were off a short corridor from the main dancefloor. As I entered said corridor, a refreshed young lady came towards me, slipped and fell over. However...

1: Her legs went in opposite directions.
2: One heel got stuck in a crack between a floortile and the wall.
3: The other shoe went flying off.
4: She split her gusset.

So, there she was, lying in the birthing position, clunge on view to the general public, crying copiously.

So one of my mates (who had earlier been chatting her up) runs over.

...slips....

and manages to kick her clean in the flange.

We left.





*not really
(Wed 8th Apr 2009, 15:11, More)

» Top Tips

Potential ambulance service punters and relatives
1) Don't greet us with the words "you'll need a stretcher". If you're an accountant, would you expect me to come to your work and say "you'll need a calculator"? No...then fuck off.

2) If you call an ambulance, make some kind of effort to make yourself/your house visible. Turning on an outside light. Getting someone to stand outside to wave us down (see point 3). Giving the operator an idea of local landmarks. Saying "I'm in Newcastle"does NOT help....)

3) If you are aforementioned waving gimp. A simple sticking out of hand as if you were hailing a taxi will suffice. Performing actions that make you look like an epileptic mating with a windmill will not expedite our arrival. In fact we may just drive past for the hell of it.

4) If you got yourself upstairs, you can sure as fuckery get yourself downstairs.

5) Abdominal pain does not affect the motor function of the legs. You can still walk.

6) If I came and sat in your house, pissed on the floor, threw up on myself and fell asleep on a chair, you may be put out. So don't do it on my fucking ambulance.

7) Don't even fucking think about hitting me. I hit back. Harder. And I can kill you and leave no trace.

8) Unless there is a very good reason, you go to the A&E of my choice. Good reasons include a: it's a skive b: it's a fun drive c: it's about lunchtime and the canteen is good d: the nurses are all sluts and e: because I'm a vindictive bastard.

9) Did I mention that if you do succeed in assaulting me, my friends the police will make sure you get nicked. And hurt. And will causally remark to some of their sources inside that you are a kiddie fidler.

10) Grannies pay attention: if you have chest pain, don't wait until the morning to call because "you didn't want to be a bother." Trust me, be a bother (this is probably the most serious point - if you have chest pain, call 999/911 for fuck's sake!)

11) If you've been drinking, don't lie about the amount. We're not fucking cretins.

12) If you've taken drugs, tell me. I can guess. And so can the purple elephant. Trust me, the majority of us have experienced unofficial medication in the past, so we know when we are being lied to.

13) Girls: if your mate is lying on the ground vomiting after downing 15 shots of sambuca, do not tell us her drink has been spiked. Your friend looks like something the japanese would kill for research. It would take something that would normally be used for anaesthetising bull elephants to bring her down, and nobody, not even a raving pervert, would shag it.

14) Being above the 5th floor in a block of flats is a capital offence.

15) If your first words to us are "you took your time" then they may also be your last.

16) Living in the middle of nowhere has its advantages. It also means that it may take a bit of time to get to you. We drive vans, not the starship enterprise.

17) If you are a scrote, and you are cold and fancy going to the A&E for a bit of food and a cup of tea...tell me. Don't lie and say you have chest pain.

18) We can spot a fake fit 5 miles off.

19) If you have a very sick baby, an ambulance crew will appear behind you by magic.

20) We do care, but the job does get to you. So please take the cynicism, sick humour and bad fucking temper with a pinch of salt. Especially if you call me out at 5 minutes before shift end.
Thanks to bwts.org with some of this stuff. Believe me, it's all true...
(Tue 12th Feb 2008, 6:03, More)

» Impulse buys

Whoops. Seemed to have summoned a demon from the netherworlds.
As you do.

I was perusing a bookshop t'other day (one that might sell wet pebbles) and found an interesting book on demonology. Not something that I ever found any previous interest in, but the book captivated me. Twas weird, it was. But I bought it, and went home.

So looking through it, I found a chapter on Summonings. This was a really bad fucking idea. My good Catholic mother didn't raise me to summon evil forces from the nethermost pits of hell - that's what my brother was for. But again. I felt an odd compulsion to carry out a summoning.

Now, a Summoning is easier than you think. You need chalk (ELC), candles (IKEA tealights) and obviously a bell (front doorbell) and a book - well I do have my confirmation bible, so we're all set.

So anyway, I am set up. Have gone into the kitchen, marked out the squiggly lines as per the instruction manual, and put my tongue through the kind of workout that the Swedish Lesbian Olympic Cunnilingus team usually perform as a warmup.

The air went cold. A deathly breeze came through the kitchen.














And fuck all happened. I closed the patio door and went to bed, disgusted.

That night, I lay dreaming, wondering why I hadn't summoned a demon.

OH BUT YOU DID

My testicles retracted into my body. Fuck knows how I managed not to void myself all over the bed. The voice came straight into my skull, not through my ears. As if it was in my mind already.

"Who...who are you?" I timidly asked.

MY NAME, HUMAN, IS IMPRONOUNCABLE IN YOUR TONGUE. I AM CALLED OLXZZZGNUGAGAGVNYRRR, BUT YOU CAN CALL ME...OLIVER. I SHALL BE HERE SOME TIME

So I had really fucked up this time. I now have my own private demon. I would walk down the road and cars would crash into each other. My holiday to New York in September 2001 was slightly spoilt. Grannies would drop dead of heart attacks as I passed.

I

Was

Fucked.



By now, I looked like Gollum with scurvy. My hair was lank and my skin was the colour of dead fish. I never left my house. I gave up work. Everywhere I went, everything I did, Oliver was there.

One day I could take it no longer. I'd already tried the exorcism page in the book. I felt my own actions were becoming less and less under my control, so I banged on the door of my local church. The priest came out and gave me one look and nearly recoiled in horror. He grabbed his rosary for protection.

"Dear God, child. What's happened."

"Demon...inside...please exorcise me."

The priest dragged me in. Luckily, Fr Michael O'Meara (any name that Irish should come with its own sack of potatoes) was an expert in demonology. He set up a bell, book and candle and performed an emergency exorcism (is there another kind). The lights flashed and eventually exploded, shards of glass flying across the room. Our faces were cut and blooded, but we didn't notice.

Suddenly a feeling like a firework went off in my skull and again I heard the eldritch voice.

YOU MAY DEFEAT ME HUMAN, BUT MY WATCHERS WILL BE KEEPING AN EYE ON YOU EVER MORE. JUST ONE SLIP, AND YOU'RE MINE. (Oh by the way, your mum sucks cocks in Hell. Sorry, it's a contractual thing.)

Both me and the priest collapsed to the floor.

"Thank God for that" said the priest. "It was only a minor demon. Much more and we'd have been goners."

I thanked him profusely from the bottom of my heart (and later from the heart of my bottom).

I know I'm free, but I also know that Oliver is out there still, waiting for me. And I can feel his watchers constantly looking at me, watching for any slipup.

You see, I have to be careful of Imp Ol's spies.
(Thu 21st May 2009, 21:58, More)

» Unemployed

And our survey says....
_{promisesthiswontcontainanypunnage}

I was lying in bed last night, the prospect of ANOTHER 12 hour day shift lying in front of me and worrying greatly of my lack of performance in the QOTW so far. I mentioned this to 'im indoors.

"Why not talk about the time you worked for the Jobcentre?" he suggested

"I never worked for the Jobcentre." I reminded him.

"Yes you did you fucking mong" he gently chided. "You did that survey work for them."

Oh yeah. How did I forget about that?

Just after I qualified as a student and started working as a stretcher monkey in our fine capital city, I was a fair bit short of money (pay then was frankly shite, and anything I got went on paying off my uber student debt). I started moonlighting for a company that did "Unplanned Customer Experience Monitoring." Or in other words, mystery shopping. 99% of the work was wank as it was public sector stuff (local councils, libraries etc.) However, in order to qualify for the more exciting jobs (electrical stores that sound like tasty Indian foodstuffs) you had to do a number of these other jobs. The pay was a pittance, but you did get travel thrown in - I always drove to these places as the fuel allowance was fucking amazing.

A highlight visit was when I went to a Jobcentre in quite a posh area of London. The first part of my visit entailed walking around the Jobcentre, checking all the computers were working, that the place was clean, that all the job boards were properly laid out etc. To do this, I had to have a clipboard and pen, and part of the survey was to see how long it was before someone approached you to ask if you needed assistance, at which stage you were to announce who you were and proceed to part 2, the interview.

So I was walking around, merrily ticking away like an autistic child with a new pen, when I heard a voice say "You. What do you think you're doing?"

I turned to see a formidable woman in her late 50's bearing down on me like that fucking black fortress from the film Krull with a twinset, pearls and blue teeth. I put on my most winning smile.

"Hi, I'm here from...."

"I don't CARE who you're here from. You stand in line like the rest of the jobseekers and WE will tell you when you can use the machines."

"Ah, I think there's been some kind of mistake. Actually I'm...."

"Mistake? We don't make MISTAKES young man. I suggest that you change your tone of voice and do as you are told, unless you want your benefits cut." At this stage, everyone in the jobcentre was silent. You could have heard an Elizabeth Duke sovereign drop.

I looked at her and cleared my throat, my bowel contents straining at my nipsy like a curious turtle.

"Can I speak to your manager please."

"NO" she shouted. "You may NOT. My manager is VERY busy and has better things to do."

I pulled out my ID. "I don't think you understand. I am here performing an inspection on your jobcentre, and you WILL let me speak to your manager. Immediately."

"Oh..er...I'll just see if he's available."

"I am certainly available" said a voice from the far end of the room. A (youngish) man in glasses was standing by a door. "Would you like to come through, sir? And you, Maureen. Stay there. I will be talking to you shortly."

I would like to say the room burst into applause, but this was London and it was clear everyone was still far too scared of Maureen to actually question her rule. But there was a universal sigh, followed by animated (if slightly hushed) conversation.

I walked into the manager's office and had a long chat with him.

"Look" I said, "obviously I'm going to have to mention what happened, but as far as I am concerned, everything else was absolutely fine."

"To be honest," the manager said "I'm glad that happened. She's been an absolute bitch ever since I came here. She basically thinks unemployment is due to lazyness or weakness, and nothing else. Unfortunately, it's nearly impossible to sack her because it's the public sector. So feel free to make your report as damning as you want - I've been telling my bosses for ages we need rid of her."

So, I walked out of the Jobcentre. No sign of Maureen. As I walked up the road, I heard a voice.

"Oi, you".

I turned round. It was a guy I vaguely recognised from being inside the Jobcentre.

"You're coming with me mate, I owe you a massive drink for standing up to that bitch"

I spent the afternoon in the pub in the company of some really nice people, some of whom I am still mates with to this day. I realised that being unemployed can happen to any of us at any time, no matter how secure your job supposedly is.
(Sun 5th Apr 2009, 6:46, More)