Okay, first and foremost. Preppygirl? I am STILL laughing at “ground chuck.” Those of you in the dark should (a) read the comments to yesterday’s post, (b) actually read yesterday’s post and then read the comments, or (c) blow it off entirely and sit there and wallow in the fact that you’re not in on the joke. Go ahead. We’ll be here when you get back.

Second. Blogger freakin’ hates me.

Okay. Had to get that out there.

I was going to write about something entirely different today, but then I got a call from my brother. I should explain. Calls from my brother very often change my whole outlook for the day. You just cannot begin to imagine his life. And the things that happen.

Before I begin, let me get something straight. There is a very scary agency in Washington. They deal with guarding our president. They deal with money and with people that make “pretend” money. They are called the “Secret you-know-what”. And I am not going to refer to them by name because with the luck I’m having, other secret agencies are going to google THAT agency and then be referred to my not-a-blog at which point all kinds of shit will start happening. So I am going to refer to that agency by another name.Yes, I AM that paranoid. Discuss among yourselves.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s continue. What happened yesterday just solidifies my belief that people are idiots and that, as a result, the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
My brother has a management/consulting business. As such, he manages (go figure) the finances of several companies. So, as people are wont to do, he placed a call to a bank so that he could make arrangements to discuss some financial business. The woman, whom he has dealt with before, called him back to schedule an appointment. This, if people weren’t idiots, would have been the end of this story and, in all likelihood, wouldn’t even have been a story at all.

But at this point, hilarity ensued. You’re just not going to notice that right away.

Brother went about his business. His business included checking voicemail. On his cellphone voicemail were several “urgent” messages from a woman he had never heard of. Before he was able to return the calls, the phone rang again and it was the same woman. She was angry and frustrated. She demanded to know why Brother had not yet wired her the money. Brother asked Angry Woman what she was talking about. She reminded him that he was supposed to wire her money in Tennessee. In turn, he reminded her that he had no clue who she was and why she was calling. She insisted that that was the number she was given so that she could get her money wired, and included the fact that Brother is the ONLY person that has the clearance to wire her the money.

Brother hung up.

The phone rang again. It was Angry Woman. Brother, who is much more patient than Older Sister (who, me?), kindly explained that she must have the wrong number. Angry Woman is, well, angry. G’bye.

R-r-r-ing. Brother answers.

“Yes, this is Agent X of the Supersecret Agency.”
ohshitohshitohshit* Ummm, yes? H-h-how can I help you?”
“We need to talk with your counterfeit operations person.”
*ohshitohshitohshit* I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ve called the wrong number.”
“I need to talk to your counterfeit operations people NOW.”
“Ma’am, I think you’ve misdialed.”

This continued for hours. Angry Woman called. Supersecret Agency called. Other people called. Brother called the bank. Explained that this situation was urgent, that for some crazy reason the bank’s calls were being forwarded to his cellphone. Urgent, he said. “Um, sir? Let me see if I can connect you with custormer service.” BUZZ. “We’re sorry, but all of our customer service representatives are busy helping other customers. Please…” Brother called main branch. Uh, HELLO? Urgent? Please don’t put me through to customer disservice again. Supervisor, stat!

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t seem to locate a supervisor. If you’ll leave your name, I’ll have someone call you.”

“Just tell them to call themselves. I’ll answer.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

At this point, Brother called the owner of the company he manages. Harry, he says. You gotta help me. Call your buddy. You know, the president of the bank. Tell him the problem. Tell him someone needs to fix this NOW. Yes, I think what happened is that when I called Laura to talk to her about Business A, she accidentally call-forwarded her calls to my phone. Hell if I know.

R-r-r-r-ing. (Y’all know where this is going, don’t you?)
“No, Mr. Bank President, this is Brother. We have a problem.”
“Well, how’d I get you? I called the branch.”
“Well, yes, sir. That’s the problem.”
“But I called Laura.”
“Yes, sir, you did, but, well, Laura’s, and therefore the entire bank’s, calls are being forwarded to me.”
“But I called the branch.”

Y’all! The speakers go up to 11.