Phone Operator 1: Brand A Cab Company, how can I help you?
Morbid Misanthrope: Hello, I need a cab to pick me up again tomorrow at 9:30 am.
PO1: Uh-huh. What address?
MM: (home address)
PO1: And where are you going?
MM: Beefy Yakov’s Slaughterhouse and Used Plastic Tarp Emporium.
PO1: Are you, like, going to work or something?
MM: Yes, I’m going to work.
PO1: How will you be paying?
MM: With cash.
PO1: Well, we don’t take checks, so can you pay with cash or something?
MM: Yeah, I’ll pay with cash—just like I did this morning.
PO1: Yeah, well, actually, we don’t send cabs to your area, so you’ll have to call someone else.
MM: Excuse me?
PO1: We don’t send cabs to that area.
MM: Since when?
PO1: Since, like, forever.
MM: But a driver from your company picked me up this morning.
PO1: That’s impossible.
MM: It’s not impossible, because it happened—this morning.
PO1: Sir, again, we don’t—nor have we ever—sent cabs to that area. I can give you the number of a company that covers that area, though, I mean, if you really need me to or something.
MM: (Straining to avoid conflict) Ok, what’s the number?
PO1: (Impatient, drawn-out sigh) 555-0666 [Editor’s Note: On my advice, the actual number, and name of the company, has been changed to protect Morb from a lawsuit, even though he wants everyone to “call those donkey fuckers and hassle them with some prank-call bullshit.”]
Phone Operator 2: Brand B Cab Company, how can I help you?
Morbid Misanthrope: Hello, I need a cab to pick me up tomorrow at 9:30 am.
PO2: What address?
MM: (home address)
PO2: Sorry, sir. We don’t cover that area. Besides, it’s, like, pretty ghetto there.
MM: So I’ve heard. But I’m sure none of the criminals are up at that time of day.
PO2: That really depends on what they’ve been smoking.
PO2: Nothing. Anyway, you’ll have to call Brand A Cab Company.
MM: Are you kidding me? I just talked to them. They said to call you because they don’t cover my area, either.
PO2: Well, I don’t know what they’re talking about.
MM: So I have to call those assholes back?
PO2: Yeah, we aren’t licensed to cover your area. They should be, though.
MM: It’s just really weird. They sent a cab for me this morning.
PO2: Are you sure it was their cab?
MM: Yeah, I mean, unless a rogue cab driver just happened to be in front of my building at the exact time they were supposed to send someone over.
PO2: Do you think they’re just, I don’t know, playing a joke on you?
MM: Who? The phone operator?
PO2: Yeah. Was he snickering?
MM: What? Snickering when he told me they wouldn’t send a cab?
PO2: Yeah, snickering usually indicates something funny is happening.
MM: Do you people play jokes on potential customers very often?
PO2: Well, I never do. But some people are just weird.
MM: Yeah, I guess so. Thanks.
Phone Operator 1: Brand A Cab Company. How can I help you?
MM: I need a cab to …
PO1: Sir, did you just call here, like, five minutes ago?
MM: I did, yes, but …
PO1: I already told you, sir: we don’t send cabs to your area.
MM: Listen, I just spoke to someone at the company you told me to call, and she said they aren’t licensed in my area. She said you guys are, though.
PO1: Oh, like she would know where we send cabs better than I would?
MM: This wouldn’t even be an issue except someone from your company picked me up this morning.
PO1: I already told you, pal, that ain’t possible!
MM: Fuck you, it’s not possible! Who the hell picked me up, then?
PO1: I don’t know who it was; I just know it wasn’t one of our cabs!
MM: Really? Even though the goddamned cab was emblazoned with your logo and showed up the exact time your company said it would when I called you last fucking night!
PO1: It wasn’t our cab, you asshole!
MM: So I suppose someone is freelancing with one of your cabs, then?
PO1: That’s possible.
MM: Yeah? He listens to all your incoming calls from his secret hideout, and then he picks up your customers in one of your cabs that he must have stolen, right? After he murdered Ramesh, the cab’s legitimate driver?
PO1: It’s possible. There are some fucked up people out there.
MM: And after all that fucking trouble—slicing up poor Ramesh with a boxcutter to steal his cab—all he does is pick people up and drop them off?
PO1: Sure, why not?
MM: Because that’s motherfucking ridiculous, you dildo!
PO1: It’s still more likely than anyone from our company picking you up, because we don’t fucking service that area!
PO1: I’m going to hang up now, asshole.
MM: I’m going to kick your ass!
PO1: How are you going to get here? Do you want me to send a cab? ‘Cause we don’t send cabs to your area. Asshole.
MM: I’ll get the ghost of poor, murdered Ramesh to have his Hindu gods send me a laser-shooting Vimana, and I’ll divebomb your bullshit company and annihilate your cock-sucking ass! [Editor’s Note: Those unfamiliar with the Bhagavata-Purana, Mahabharata, and Ramayana and their significance to the field of Ufology should either, A.) Look it up online, or, B.) Be thankful they’re not nerdy enough to understand what Morb is ranting about.]
PO1: Keep on threatening me, prick, this call is being recorded! You’re on tape! You’re on tape, asshole!
MM: Fuck if I care! Are they going to arrest me for threatening you with a goddamned Hindu spaceship? You fucking cocksmoker!
PO1: I hope you like walking, asshole!
MM: I hope you like being a dildo, you dildo!
PO1: Fuck you, pal!