I've always been a helpful sort of person.
Done a lot of customer service, and always had a smile on my face and a spring in my step when it comes to elderly people whether in or out of work, out of fondness for my older relatives, most of whom live overseas.

So when I got a call late one night in the flat I lived in alone, in Australia, from a confused sounding older lady in Britain, searching for a relative, I felt bad that she'd spent so much money connecting to a wrong number (which I'd had for over a year at this point).

I had a friendly chat, despite the fact that it was late at night, and that she was a bit deaf, adding to the frustrations of an international call plagued by static and delay.

I managed to coax out of her the name and address of the person she was looking for- it took about twenty minutes.

Digging through the White Pages, I found the number she was after, wished her all the best for her night and her call, bidding her farewell.

She roundly abused me for being unable to simply transfer her to the number she wanted in the first place- from my private home phone, which I explained over and over was simply not possible, only to cop more foul language.

Ingrate old slag.
(Angie the Redneck Wonder, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 17:34, Reply)