So I’m on the phone with Syria’s operator service, 147. The polite ones, aka Yellow Number, aren’t picking up today, so I called the not so polite ones, aka Public Service:
Guy: Eeellooo (drawled out, the two syllables convey a clear message: I have better things to do. Like maybe drink some chia and hit on my colleague. My sheesha and card game are beckoning. Get it over with.)
Me: Uh, Hi. Operator?
Guy: What do you want?
Me: DHL please.
Guy: (five second silence)
Me: Hello? DHL… the postal service?
Guy: Ahhh. DHL (only said in a fob accent. So that would be dee essh elle)
Me: Yub (my own fob accent)
Guy: Yallah. NIZAR! (I yank the phone away from my ear since he hadn’t taken the time to remove mouth from speaker before letting it loose) SHO RAKAM DHL? (what’s DHL’s number?)
Nizar (I’m guessing): undistinguishable yell.
Guy: SHOOO? (what?)
Nizar: repeats yell
Guy: Write this down. 2238- NIZAR! (again, I hold the phone away. Far, far away.) SHO AKHERTA? (what’s the last bit)
Nizar: (more yelling)
Guy: 586. Bye
Me: Wait! 2238586?
Guy: NIZAR!! (owwww) Is it 2238586??
Nizar: (affirmative yell since next I heard was…)
Guy: Isn’t that what I said? (his tone of voice suggests he’s seriously doubting my mental capacities. He then hangs up.)
Me: (brightly) Thank you!! (said to the dial tone)
Huh. Wonder if this’ll ever make it onto my Why I (will) Miss Syria list? Probably. I mean Canadian operators are just so.. courteous and nice. Bland almost. I’d rather have my ear yelled off and my hearing/mental abilities questioned any day. Seriously though, why? Why the hell do I love this country so damn much?