For Monica.

I know what kind of old lady I want to be.
God knows I had opportunity enough to study all the various types when I was geriatric nursing.

I liked the semi-cranky ones, whose memory was still in tact and who made you really work to gain their interest, harder still to gain their affection and quietly demanded that you almost kill yourself in order to gain their respect.

I like old men like that too.

In fact, I used to swap 2 "nice" old ladies for 1 cranky old man before the shift began.

I was told this week, by none other than Yoga Boy himself that I needed to calm down and not take so much to heart.

"But why not?" I asked him, "I'm working at becoming a crotchety old lady."

He believes I'm ahead of schedule.
And why isn't that cause for congratulations? I'm confused.
My list of grievances are simple, reasonable, well thought out, well expressed, humourous and consistent.

Some differences in character surfaced when we had to drop Yoga Boy at the airport yet again.

As is his want, he decided to do something last minute.
Seriously - who phones Optus on their mobile on the way to catch an international flight, just to alter something as trivial as payment details?
Particularly considering he had none of the relevant account information with him...

Exhibit A: the Pisces man.

This call lasted from the M2 and made it to just short of the airport.

Just listening to him trying to get through the voice prompts was hilarious.
Magnificent.
If they were bright, those things would discern the expression, "Fuck off," as belonging to someone well at the end of their tether, and patch you straight through to the suitable person.

But, no.

Yoga Boy's reactions were rather different from my what own might have been.
As a consequence of this, I'm guessing that he might have handled the phone call I endured with Ticketek later that day, quite differently too.
Which seems a shame because I really enjoyed that one and I suspect it may have done them the world of good.

Upon phoning to number craftily and deliberately hidden on their site, I was treated to the torture that is voice prompting.

I spoke the name of the event I wished to book clearly and without the slightest hint of impediment.
Perhaps this is where I went wrong.

I asked for Rooster vs Rabbitohs, which is what it said on the website.

Somehow that was translated into The Sydney Chamber Orchestra.

"Is this correct?"

"NO!"

"Which location would you like to see The Sydney Chamber Orchestra?"

"Fuck off!"

.... At this point, it really should have gone to "I'll put you through, sorry for being so terribly incompetent."

...But no, instead it went to, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Did you wish to see this event in Newcastle or Canberra?"

"Over my dead body, you fucking moron!"

So, by the time the operator picked up, I was good and mad.
Having dealt with the public for many years, I am perfecty aware that this is not his fault.

He did however make the error of picking up the call with, "So you want to book tickets for The Sydney Chamber Orchestra."

I explained in fairly straight terms that this was not the case and that the prompts had wasted my time and could not tell the difference between a football game and an orchestra performance, then it was probably just being used as a method of stalling customers rather than benefiting them.

At this point, the hilarity began in earnest.

I asked whether Bay 38 would still be GA for this match.

"There is no Bay 38 at this ground."

Knowing this to be an untruth, I asked him to check his facts.

Yes, eventually he found Bay 38. Miracle!

Are we still entitled to the SSFC member discount for this bay?

"There is no such thing as an SSFC member discount available."

I asked him to check his facts.

He returned and unhappily agreed that there were discounted tickets available, but then went on to tell me that all GA seating to this event had been sold out.

"Sold OUT!? Umm, I don't think so, they've had finals games there that haven't been sold out. Could you check that as well please?"

Now, as it happened, they were not sold out at all.
Surprise, surprise.

At this point, I stopped asking questions and just told him what he needed to do.
And then he charged me $6 for his help and I used my own ink and paper to print our tickets.

Hands up who believes they'll actually get us in on the day?

I'm still stumped by a differential diagnosis of this person: plain moron or a Roosters supporter?

And that a ticketing salesperson may deliberately fuck with your head is not such a strange suggestion either.
A few years ago, I saw two St George supporters seated bang in the middle of The Burrow.
Why?
Because the Ticketek person was a forward thinking Souths supporter and had booked them there to shit them. LOL

Up the Rabbitohs.
Still hate the Roosters.
Go Browns.