credit card replies

Answers About The Elevator

I feel like I should tell you all, before we start, that I was so rattled by the phone call in the elevator that I almost walked past my bus stop because, after posting that post, instead of going to the bus, I started following someone walking a dachshund in front of me. 

Like my panicked brain went “doggo!” and just followed the dog, because I know that dachshunds are kind and will also rip your throat out if you threaten Their Person. 

yareadyfreddie replied to your post “I just got a robocall from a credit card company….in the elevator…over…”

I work for an alarm monitoring call center. Those phones actually go to us (so we can differentiate between an actual emergency, an accidental bump, a drunk person, or once a dog…) but they are actual phone numbers. Like, we get wrong numbers that say they’re coming from an emergency elevator line that are actually from senior citizens in New Jersey trying to restructure their home loans. I guess you can misdial both ways.

justalurkr replied to your post “I just got a robocall from a credit card company….in the elevator…over…”

I’m stretching the old steel sieve memory here, but there are apparently predictive dialers that will call every combination of the last four digits of a given NPA/NXX and either pass the answered calls to a telemarketer (back in my day, when people had jobs) or play a recording, as was the case for you. Your elevator had a valid, 10-digit # that isn’t in the Do Not Call registry.

See, these two comments are just wild. Like it feels like we have come far enough in telecom that we should somehow…reserve those lines for certain other numbers. I don’t know, that just makes me think harder than I want to think about how telephones work. 

turtledisc replied to your post “I just got a robocall from a credit card company….in the elevator…over…”

I want to know how many times that phone’s rang without anyone answering (and how many people have been completely freaked out at the phone in the elevator ringing)

Here’s the thing: I DIDN’T ANSWER THE CALL. 

I got into the elevator and when I hit the button for the ground floor, IT STARTED RINGING. Around the second floor, it just…picked up. All on its own. And I got the credit card pitch.

WHAT THE FUUUUU

coppersunshine replied to your post “I just got a robocall from a credit card company….in the elevator…over…”

#teamglitch

I didn’t choose the glitch life, the glitch life chose me. 

strangeselkie replied to your post “I just got a robocall from a credit card company….in the elevator…over…”

The ghost in the machine is just as deserving of a solid APR as you, meat sack

I mean god forbid I should prevent an elevator from building credit so it can one day achieve its dream of owning the home it’s installed in, I suppose….

@strawberrydirt

‘i wz coping my guy’ IM SHRIEKING dkjfghdklfjgnlskh THATS TH BIGGST MOOD EVR

i litrly m’always gettn approachd by ppl like ‘yo y’d u go off yestrday like that’ nd im like ‘bitch IDK tf ??? u tel me i Wasnt Present, i get drunk nd i take a backseat nd let Mai Tai steer but hes a terribl drivr so sorry ur problem not mine’

i need to strap a gopro to me wen i get fckd up cz only god knows wat i get up to

levynite replied to your post “Answers Miscellaneous”

oh my lord, i despaired over the credit card thing…also, debit cards are not credit cards hahahahhahahah *dead voice*

I can only imagine. What makes me insane is that there’s never a printable web form and usually no way to email the scanned forms – HOTELS STILL USE FAXES. I am literally the only person on the floor who uses the fax machine, because hotels are so stuck in the mid-1980s. And usually they have the wrong fax number on the form, which is GREAT when you are sending someone your CREDIT CARD info….

snowytumble replied to your post “I just want to thank you for putting Carol and Jess in A Moveable…”

Question: Stephen Strange, out of work Food Magician - ever going to swing by? Just because I’d see a lovely parallel between Tony being frustrated at Magic and Molecular Gastronomy Tony being annoyed at dumb food tricks (whatever those may be)…

Oh man, no, Strange is a hippie herb merchant! We mentioned him in a fic that isn’t archived yet, YouFood Roulette

I think I laughed the hardest I laughed in ALL OF 2016 when Sci wrote this bit:

“But he’s got quality spices and a bitchin’ van,” Tony said.  He glanced at Steve.  “Ever notice that it’s got a different picture painted on it every time he comes around?”

“Yes, I notice.  I notice that-” Steve rubbed a hand over his face.  “I asked him who did his work and he told me neither I nor my truck were ready for the mystic secrets of his paint job.”

“Last week, it had two panthers fighting,” Tony said gleefully.  “With battle axes.”

I wept with laughter over the battle axes. 

Sick Shawn

Requested: “Can you do one where he gets sick”

~~~

“I said I wasn’t feeling well and do you know what they told me?” Shawn says as he lifts up my legs, taking a seat next to me on the couch and putting my legs in his lap.

“What?” I ask, looking over at Shawn. I’ve been waiting in the hotel room while he went upstairs to have a meeting with his management team, like he does all the time.

“They said, I don’t have time to be sick so I can’t get sick. What the fuck? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Like I can just tell my body, ‘Not now body. Wait til its more convenient.’”
It was a dumb thing for his management to say, but truthfully, he’s just getting really worked up about it because he’s sick and not in the best mood.

“I know babe. That was stupid.”

“I’m obviously not trying to be sick. I know I have a ton of shit to do and if I get sick it’ll fuck up the schedule. But I can’t help it.”

I sit up a little, reaching over to run my fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. “I know you can’t help it, and you’re trying your best. It isn’t your fault that you’re sick.”

He’s still frustrated, I can tell, and understandably so. “Baby, look at me.” He meets my gaze. “Just rest, we have this afternoon, so lets just rest. We’ll get orange juice and Emergen-C and hopefully by tomorrow this is all gone and it won’t even mess anything up. I know you aren’t feeling good, there’s no use in getting worked up about it.”

“You’re right,” He replies, “Why are you always right?”

You just shrug in response before saying, “Why don’t you try to go back to sleep? There’s a CVS across the street. I’ll run over there and get orange juice and Emergen-C. Is there anything else you want?”

“Can you get the raspberry flavor?”
“Of course. Do you need anything else though?”

“Ice cream?” He asks full of hope.

“No,” You reply. “That’s not good for your throat. I’ll get some tea too though.”

“Okay fine. Thanks for doing this babe, use my credit card.”

“Its fine.” You reply, “I’ll only be like ten dollars.” You say.  

Shawn got you a credit card under his account a while ago. You didn’t want to even take it, but he insisted, convincing you that it made him feel better if you had it because just in case something happened he wanted to know that you had money in case you’d need it. For his peace of mind, you finally accepted it, but you don’t use it because you don’t like the idea of using his money.

“Babe just use it. I’m sick and it’s my dying request.”

“You’re not dying, you better not be dying.” You threaten.

“Hopefully I’m alive when you get back. Don’t take too long.” He calls as you walk away from him.

“So dramatic,” You say under your breath as you walk out the door.

It only takes you about twenty minutes to get everything, and when you return, Shawn is fast asleep. You put the orange juice in the fridge then you grab your headphones and laptop and get comfortable on the couch watching Netflix. After an episode and a half of Gilmore Girls, Shawn finally wakes up. You only know because you hear the bathroom door slam. You pause your episode and take out your headphones, waiting for him to emerge. A few minutes later, he finally does. “How are you feeling?” You ask.

“Worse,” He replies, his voice really raspy. You cringe a little, the thought of him losing his voice actually a really scary thought. For anyone else, it wouldn’t really be a big deal, but his voice is literally his career, and even losing it for a few days would mean they’d have to cancel a lot of things.

“I’m sorry babe. Drink some orange juice and then tea for your throat.”

“Okay,” he agrees and you stand up to grab make it for him. “Thanks babe.” He says as you hand him a glass of orange juice then set out to make his tea.

“Did you throw up?” You ask.

“No, I don’t think I’m that kind of sick.” He replies.

“Oh good.” You reply, relieved. “Is it just your throat then?”

He finished the glass of orange juice, and you’re just waiting for the water to heat up. “Yeah, and my head hurts, a lot.”

“I have advil in my backpack.” You go and retrieve it, handing it to him.

“You’re the best.” He says taking it and pouring himself more orange juice.

“I know.” You reply, and he just shakes his head at your response. You finish making his tea and you hand it to him. He thanks you, and puts it down on the nightstand, getting back into bed. You follow, crawling into bed next to him. “Babe, I don’t want to get you sick.” He says creating some distance between you two.

“I don’t care.” You mumble, getting closer to him.

“Really, you don’t want to get sick.”

“Babe, I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good because I really want to hold you right now.”

anonymous asked:

Bucky discovering, and getting hooked, on Pinterest.

it starts when he’s looking for a recipe.

he’s alone in steve’s apartment. steve and sam have been off on avengers business or whatever all day, and steve left some macaroni in the fridge for him, but it doesn’t sound good. he looks through the cabinets restlessly, then realizes he doesn’t have any idea how to cook most of the stuff steve has, anyways.

so he flips open steve’s laptop - not even password protected, go figure - and googles “recipes.”

that search turns up an entirely alarming amount of results, and he realizes he needs to narrow it down. so he tries “easy recipes.” (admittedly, not much better).

one of the top hits is a page that says “easy recipes,” so he clicks it.

instead of a recipe, it takes him to a whole grid of images of food - easy crockpot soup, one pot pasta, spinach salad - it’s completely overwhelming so naturally, bucky gets lost in it.

two hours later he’s bookmarked twenty recipes, finally found one that he actually has all the ingredients for, and has a broccoli cheddar soup simmering on the stove.

by the time steve gets home a few more hours later, bucky is well and truly lost in the diy section

“steve,” he asks as soon as he walks in the door, “is it okay if i use your credit card?”

“sure buck,” replies steve, distracted by his armful of groceries. “what for?”

(within a few days, a box containing a number of knitting needles, several colorful skeins of yarn, and a few patterns appears on their doorstep, and the apartment is alive with the sound of bucky swearing as he tries to teach himself how to purl.)