I work at the infodesk for one of the best research universities in the country. (We are pretty famous for researching robotics and having classes.) Here is the proof that it’s as high-brow as people say it is.
The day the semester started:
*Phone rings.*
“Infodesk, how may I help you?”
“Hey.”
“…Hey.”
…
“Did the semester start today?”
…
*Wtf.*
“…Yes. Yes, the semester started today. As… as far as I know.”
“Oh. … Okay.”
On the first day I worked:
*Phone rings.*
“Infodesk, how may I help you?”
“Blah blah blah something about IRS incoherent babble about tracking someone down AND I NEED TO KNOW WHERE HE LIVES.”
*WTF. WTF, WTF, WTF.*
*I put them on hold.*
“Uhhhhh… Cindy, can you take this call? I’m really busy right now.”
*phone rings*
“Infodesk, how may I help you?”
“Hi, do y’all seyll ayny kind o’ row-bawts?”
…
“Uhhh… can you hold, please?”
*I put her on hold, thinking it’s a prank call–two minutes and a few customers later, she’s still on the line.*
“Thanks for waiting, what was your question again?”
“Row-bawts. Do y’all sell them?”
“Like… what kind of robots? What are you looking for?”
“Oh, you know, like… could you just tell me what you have?”
…
“I’m gonna transfer you to the Robotics Department.”
*I transfer her.*
The Robotics Department teaches classes on that sort of thing. As a University and not, y’know, Sony, we don’t exactly sell robots to random southern crazy ladies. I could have told her that, but who knows how long that would have taken to explain. Maybe transferring her to an academic department would give her a hint, but I doubt they’ve gotten off the phone with her even as I write this.
Update: this is only the tip of the iceberg of retardation.
