Foot in Mouth Syndrome
What's the worst social gaffe you've ever made? When you know you've said the wrong thing to the wrong person and wish the ground would swallow you up. In other words you've just contracted a bad case of foot in mouth syndrome. Tell us your stories and we'll share your pain.
( , Tue 20 Apr 2004, 22:27)
What's the worst social gaffe you've ever made? When you know you've said the wrong thing to the wrong person and wish the ground would swallow you up. In other words you've just contracted a bad case of foot in mouth syndrome. Tell us your stories and we'll share your pain.
( , Tue 20 Apr 2004, 22:27)
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I quit shortly after...
Possibly a pearoast, but my drug-addled brain prevents me from remembering, so here I go... again... maybe...
I used to work in a call centre answering calls on behalf of other companies, pretending to be that other company, then passing the message on when they returned from lunch, or the following morning.
So about lunchtime this call drops in to me (names changed for Obv. reasons)...
Me: "Good afternoon, ***blah*** Funeral Directors. How can I help?"
Caller: "Hello, my name is Mr. Brown. I'm wondering if it would be OK for me to pop in and see Mrs. Brown?"
Me (not knowing the name of *anyone* who worked for this funeral directors): "I'm sorry, but Mrs. Brown is a bit busy. If you want, I'll ask her to contact you when she gets a spare moment."
It's at this point my mind begain screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!"
Caller (with me awaiting the inevitable): "No, you don't understand..."
No. I understood. I understood only to well... just far, far too late.
"... Mrs. Brown is my wife. She died last week."
A combination of realised-stupidity, and the mental image of some doddery old bloke avidly waiting by a ouija board for a reply meant I had to put him on hold while I disintegrated into a mixture of hysterics, tears and sheer panic as to what to say next.
( , Wed 21 Apr 2004, 14:06, Reply)
Possibly a pearoast, but my drug-addled brain prevents me from remembering, so here I go... again... maybe...
I used to work in a call centre answering calls on behalf of other companies, pretending to be that other company, then passing the message on when they returned from lunch, or the following morning.
So about lunchtime this call drops in to me (names changed for Obv. reasons)...
Me: "Good afternoon, ***blah*** Funeral Directors. How can I help?"
Caller: "Hello, my name is Mr. Brown. I'm wondering if it would be OK for me to pop in and see Mrs. Brown?"
Me (not knowing the name of *anyone* who worked for this funeral directors): "I'm sorry, but Mrs. Brown is a bit busy. If you want, I'll ask her to contact you when she gets a spare moment."
It's at this point my mind begain screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!"
Caller (with me awaiting the inevitable): "No, you don't understand..."
No. I understood. I understood only to well... just far, far too late.
"... Mrs. Brown is my wife. She died last week."
A combination of realised-stupidity, and the mental image of some doddery old bloke avidly waiting by a ouija board for a reply meant I had to put him on hold while I disintegrated into a mixture of hysterics, tears and sheer panic as to what to say next.
( , Wed 21 Apr 2004, 14:06, Reply)
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