:m a g n u s:
"I'm sorry sir, but we can't do anything about it."
Frustration: the very epitome of my existance. Everytime I think something's going along smoothly, I turn around and it backfires. Violently. "What do you mean you can't do anything about it? I paid for you to install oak hardwood flooring. Not neon pink strip club carpet!" You'd be pissed too, wouldn't you? What's worse is that this particular company is owned by my parents' friends, and because they knew that my parents are both of French descent, they put a French-speaking operator on so that I could better understand there services. I. Don't. Speak. French. Never have. Never will. I only passed it in school because I had to, and after I earned that one credit in high school, I took Vocals classes as substitutes for gym and that extra optional language. I would've been more interested if they had classes for Italian or German or Japanese, or maybe something a little less common like Latvian. But no. We had a grand selection of French or Spanish, and I wasn't happy with that. At least I came out of school with a singing voice that I had worked on for four years straight and even though it wasn't the best it was better than Chloé's. Hint; my sister can't sing.
"Our records say that you ordered neon pink carpet."
"Obviously your records are wrong. Are you sure there isn't another Magnus Villiers on the list? Because I'm pretty sure that maybe your French operator doesn't speak English. Oak hardwood. Completely different from pink carpet." I hate having to explain things to people. I hate having the dumbest luck in Vancouver. If I ever went to a hockey game where the usually epic Vancouver was playing, even against Boston they'd lose. Why? Because Boston sucks. I try not to even watch the games on TV; I don't even like hockey that much, but I grew up on it so it's kind of force of habit by now, and being born and raised in Vancouver as I am, the Canucks are my team... my team that I don't watch because I am physically afraid of jinxing them somehow and making them lose.... Even though jinxing doesn't really exist, because that would mean that magic existed in the scientific world and it just doesn't. It just doesn't. Seriously. Magic isn't real.
"I'm certain that there's only one Magnus Villiers on the list, sir.... And of course our French operator doesn't speak English.... I just assumed that you spoke French; I mean, your parents—" Listening to this poor guy babbling on to try and keep up with my tirade of the day was fun if nothing else. At least it's making me feel like mine isn't the only shitty day in the world. If I can make this guy miserable for screwing up my apartment, then I'll be alright, even if I do feel bad for making a total ass out of myself over the phone. Not even to his face. Over the phone. In all technicality, maybe I should've asked my landlady if it was alright that I replaced her (vomit-coloured) carpets, but I knew she'd thank me later. Of course she would... unless the pink wasn't replaced before she came to collect the rent tomorrow. Because of my luck, I was certain that the problems would just keep piling up, like Spain's debt, and eventually I might have to move back in with my parents. Back to my lonely basement where I could hear Natanael's music from where he blasted it in his tree fort from when we were old enough for tree forts. He listens to things like Black Veil Brides, and I'll never understand his taste; I almost enjoyed the Tokio Hotel and Cinema Bizarre phase, but that was years ago, and I doubt that I'm ever going to see that not-so-dark-and-evil side of him again. Geez, that was back when we were best friends.... Of course... I've never been closer to anyone than Monika since the first day he was introduced into my playground as a new student. Of course, there goes my luck again, because the teacher on duty decided that I should look after him on the schoolyard. Let me just say that he might be the sweetest thing on the face of the Earth besides Alessia's cousin, but I don't know Cayman all that well so it doesn't matter. Monika. Monika freakin'... whatever his last name is. It's, like, Dutch or something. Not Dutch. Latvian. Not even close to each other. Or was it Latvian? It was somewhere up around there, but I think I'm right. Oh well. Whatever he is, he is. And that's that.
"So you're going to fix my flooring for free and admit that this screw-up was all the fault of your dumb French operator?"
And at that exact moment... my phone line was cut off.
"I'm sorry sir, but we can't do anything about it."
Frustration: the very epitome of my existance. Everytime I think something's going along smoothly, I turn around and it backfires. Violently. "What do you mean you can't do anything about it? I paid for you to install oak hardwood flooring. Not neon pink strip club carpet!" You'd be pissed too, wouldn't you? What's worse is that this particular company is owned by my parents' friends, and because they knew that my parents are both of French descent, they put a French-speaking operator on so that I could better understand there services. I. Don't. Speak. French. Never have. Never will. I only passed it in school because I had to, and after I earned that one credit in high school, I took Vocals classes as substitutes for gym and that extra optional language. I would've been more interested if they had classes for Italian or German or Japanese, or maybe something a little less common like Latvian. But no. We had a grand selection of French or Spanish, and I wasn't happy with that. At least I came out of school with a singing voice that I had worked on for four years straight and even though it wasn't the best it was better than Chloé's. Hint; my sister can't sing.
"Our records say that you ordered neon pink carpet."
"Obviously your records are wrong. Are you sure there isn't another Magnus Villiers on the list? Because I'm pretty sure that maybe your French operator doesn't speak English. Oak hardwood. Completely different from pink carpet." I hate having to explain things to people. I hate having the dumbest luck in Vancouver. If I ever went to a hockey game where the usually epic Vancouver was playing, even against Boston they'd lose. Why? Because Boston sucks. I try not to even watch the games on TV; I don't even like hockey that much, but I grew up on it so it's kind of force of habit by now, and being born and raised in Vancouver as I am, the Canucks are my team... my team that I don't watch because I am physically afraid of jinxing them somehow and making them lose.... Even though jinxing doesn't really exist, because that would mean that magic existed in the scientific world and it just doesn't. It just doesn't. Seriously. Magic isn't real.
"I'm certain that there's only one Magnus Villiers on the list, sir.... And of course our French operator doesn't speak English.... I just assumed that you spoke French; I mean, your parents—" Listening to this poor guy babbling on to try and keep up with my tirade of the day was fun if nothing else. At least it's making me feel like mine isn't the only shitty day in the world. If I can make this guy miserable for screwing up my apartment, then I'll be alright, even if I do feel bad for making a total ass out of myself over the phone. Not even to his face. Over the phone. In all technicality, maybe I should've asked my landlady if it was alright that I replaced her (vomit-coloured) carpets, but I knew she'd thank me later. Of course she would... unless the pink wasn't replaced before she came to collect the rent tomorrow. Because of my luck, I was certain that the problems would just keep piling up, like Spain's debt, and eventually I might have to move back in with my parents. Back to my lonely basement where I could hear Natanael's music from where he blasted it in his tree fort from when we were old enough for tree forts. He listens to things like Black Veil Brides, and I'll never understand his taste; I almost enjoyed the Tokio Hotel and Cinema Bizarre phase, but that was years ago, and I doubt that I'm ever going to see that not-so-dark-and-evil side of him again. Geez, that was back when we were best friends.... Of course... I've never been closer to anyone than Monika since the first day he was introduced into my playground as a new student. Of course, there goes my luck again, because the teacher on duty decided that I should look after him on the schoolyard. Let me just say that he might be the sweetest thing on the face of the Earth besides Alessia's cousin, but I don't know Cayman all that well so it doesn't matter. Monika. Monika freakin'... whatever his last name is. It's, like, Dutch or something. Not Dutch. Latvian. Not even close to each other. Or was it Latvian? It was somewhere up around there, but I think I'm right. Oh well. Whatever he is, he is. And that's that.
"So you're going to fix my flooring for free and admit that this screw-up was all the fault of your dumb French operator?"
And at that exact moment... my phone line was cut off.