I am calm now. It took me several hours but I’m calm. I chanted for a bit, albeit my chants are different than most people seeking total consciousness. Say it with me,
Isn’t religion wonderful?
The reason I’ve been born again is two fold. It started when I tried to call SBC to figure out why I could “receive” e-mail, but not “send” it.
When I called the SBC support number my voice was transmitted thousands of miles to……India.
Yes India, the stomping grounds of the Maharajah, Gandhi and Rudyard Kipling. The main difference between them and me is that they DIDN’T NEED TO SEND E-MAILS!!!!!!!!!
This was lost on Mufasa or Whaheyba or Alice or whatever her name was. It didn’t matter because she was reading off of a script. A script that told her everything that “she” needed to know about fixing my problem but DID NOTHING FOR ME!!!!!!
If my questions forced her to deviate from the script the response was “thank you for using SBC I will escalate your problem for you.”
WELL MY BLOOD PRESSURE WAS ESCALATING!!!!!!!
I hung up with Jambabwi or Slawgora or Mary or whatever fake name she was using. I was determined to talk to an American. I was convinced that only a true blue English speaking American could solve my problem.
Yes I know. Indian people speak English. But it’s English English not American English. It’s easier to understand Spanish than English English. Portuguese is easier to understand than English English especially when it’s spoken with an Indian accent.
Sadly there are no Americans in customer service for SBC. I had no choice but to go back to India.
I decided that the next time I talked with Rumanfa or Kufida or Sally that I would be prepared. So I got out my DVD of Gunga Din. That’s right that old classic with Cary Grant and Douglas Fairbanks Jr. (For you young people those were actual actors. We had those in the old days and none of them sold clothing with J-Lo on the tag!)
I noticed something about the Indian people in this movie. They were all skinny and moved very quickly. Plus they hated the English like we hate the French.
Armed with this knowledge I called India back. I promised her food, I told her the queen of England was butt ugly and that English soccer fans are hooligans; I even told her how often I shop at 7-11. I begged and pleaded with her to send me to someone in the good ole US of A to help me and finally I was “escalated”!!! She was sending me to the U.S.A.!!!!!!
After 32 minutes on hold, WELL I WASN’T GIVING UP!!! Eric got on the line. Eric…… Eric…… Eric who claimed he was in Los Angeles, obviously taking a break from his job DRIVING A CAB!!!, to talk to me. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that “Eric” was actually “Punjab” and that he was one floor up from Bagdeesha or Formica or Ann or whatever her name was.
I will give “Eric” credit. He solved my problem. In his honor I have written the following with apologies to Mr. Kipling.
You may talk football and beer
When you're watching TV 'ere,
An' you're sending e-mail out through SBC.
But if your server misses,
You can skip customer service,
Cause over there the pay is in that old rupee.
Now in India's sunny clime,
SBC tries to save a dime
Of the quality they couldn’t give a lick,
Of all them the blackfaced crew
The best one that I knew
Was an operator named Gunga Eric.
He was "Eric! Eric! Eric!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Eric!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
e-mail, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Eric."
He helped me out today
My e-mails up I say,
An' it’s clean and clear an working right so quick.
Escalation put aside,
An' just before I cried,
"Your up and running now", sez Gunga Eric.
So I'll meet 'im later on
To the cab where 'e has gone --
Where he’s always on a road that he did pick;
'E'll be squattin' on the seat
Givin' the finger to the street,
An' I'll get e-mail in hell from Gunga Eric!
Yes, Eric! Eric! Eric!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Eric!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You know more about Outlook than I do, Gunga Eric!
Yes that is a stupid poem. But you all have to realize that sometimes I write just for me. I liked it and in the end that’s all that counts. Not particularly funny well read on. It doesn’t get much better.
I told you my stress was two fold and yet only explained one. The second is well, almost too remarkable to even comment on.
Some would say that I am a right wing conservative Republican, and well, they would be right. But even I cannot understand why someone doesn’t screen the comments coming from our Republican officials in Washington.
I quote the following exchange on the news Sunday night.
Commentator: “What have we won in Iraq? What did we really win?
Government Moron: “We win by redefining the meaning of winning.”
Did he just say that in American English or English English?
So there is a way to redefine winning? I DON’T THINK SO!!!!
If the score is 4-3 the guy with the four wins. That’s how it works. You either lose or you win or like in Vietnam, you get a prolonged tie until you don’t feel like playing the game anymore.
Redefine the meaning of winning?
IN A WAR???????
Some of these people need to be beaten to death!!!!
Let’s ask ourselves this question. It’s been asked before but let’s do it again.
Why did we really invade Iraq?
Was it for the oil? Nope. If it was where the hell is it? That’s right, WHERE IS THE OIL???
Was it for the Weapons of Mass Destruction or WMD’s? Apparently not, we have satellites than can spot a wart on a toads butt but we couldn’t find chemical or nuclear weapons?
We controlled two thirds of Iraq. Come on we didn’t invade for WMD’s or the threat that Saddam Hussein was a danger to anyone.
So I ask myself why? Why would we spend billions and billions of dollars, alienate the rest of the world and kill thousands of people to topple Saddam Hussein?
Then it dawned on me. The answer is really very simple. Are you ready?
“Because we could.”
That’s all there is.
Think about that for a while.
Some of you will get it.
The others will vote for Kerry again.
Definitely not funny, but I feel better.