fandomhigh | Dealing With Stupid People [Monday, May 21]

When the students in the workshop arrived at the tables by the main campfire, they found them covered with phones.

"Welcome to the help desk!" Josh said, grinning proudly. "People are very stupid over the phone, especially when they know you can't see the expression on their faces. This is also why video conferences aren't as popular as regular conference calls--hiding your eyerolling is easier when, well, they can't see your eyes."

He waved his hands out. "Today you will be manning a help desk. I have ~~handwavily~~ put out posters to let people know that it's open during this class time, so the phones should start ringing any minute now. Your job is to answer the person's question in the most polite way possible without letting them know you think they are completely out of their minds."

"Coffee, muffins and bagels are available, answering their questions correctly is completely optional." Josh smirked. "Have fun."

[OOC: Phone lines are open for townies, students, and faculty members to call in. Josh has conveniently forgotten to specify what kind of help the students would offer. Ask for relationship advice, song requests, technical support, people to vote for or against bills in Congress, just to say hi...go nuts.

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"Hi, this is Prue Halliwell. How can I help you?" she asked warily. Yeah, she was dreading this.

"What d'ye do wit' a drunken sailor, wench?" Barbossa asked.

It could've been a song request. Or asking for relationship advice.

Great. She's got a pirate. Or a crazy person that thinks he's a pirate.

"Um, throw him overboard?" she said. "And don't call me a wench."

"But then he'd be drowned 'n we'd be down a man," Barbossa replied with a frown, "'n I be not a big fan o' the manual labor. Although thar would be more rum fer me, then..."

Clearly a question that required more pondering. "And o' course I call ye a wench. Unless ye be not a wench...be ye a eunuch?"

"A drunken sailor wouldn't be in any shape to do manual labor when he's drunk." said Prue. "He'd just stumble around and accidentally stab people with his sword."

"I am a wench! I mean, I'm a woman. But I don't like being called a wench." she said. "You can call me Ms. Halliwell."

"Another Miz Halliwell?" Barbossa sighed. "I'd be callin' ye Steve, but we already be havin' a couple o' Steves. Ye now be...Frank. Aye. So, Frank-who-be-not-wantin'-t'be-a-wench, if we be takin' the drunkard's sword away --'n that not be a euphemism unless he be terribly inappropriate -- could we toss 'im into the brig t' sober up?"

"I don't want to be Frank!" said Prue. She doubted that saying that would do much good. Obviously this pirate was either drunk or crazy. Or both.

Prue sighed. "Yes, you can toss him in the brig. But you guys should really should drink something other than rum. You'll get scurvy. Switch to drinking Tequila Sunrises or Screwdrivers."

"Aye, 'n Logan-who-used-t'be-a-bunny didn't want t'be a bunny, not-a-wench," Barbossa said. "'n why would we eat tools t' keep from gettin' the scurvy? Be we needin' more iron in our system?"

Cue the obnoxious pirate laughter. Oh, he cracked himself up.

Prue gripped the phone tightly. She wondered how hard it would be to find a pirate in this town. And how much trouble she'd get in if she threw him through a wall.

"Nice to see that your poor hygiene and broken English hasn't dampened your sense of humor."

"I be not havin' poor hygiene!" Barbossa yelped, pretending to be offended. "I be havin' a protective layer o' dirt t' protect me from ailments, o' course!"

"I'm sure that protective layer has all the wenches flocking to you."

"Not so much after th' whores left town," Barbossa said with a frown. "I miss me ninja."

Honestly, the whore thing didn't surprise Prue at all. "I thought pirates and ninjas were enemies."

"Our love be transcendin' such things!" Barbossa yelped.

[ooc: right account now omg...]

"An epic love, I'm sure." said Prue.

"It were," Barbossa sniffled. "'n now I cannot be eatin' piiiiiiiiie."

Oh, good. Now he's crying.

Oh jeez. She didn't mean to make him cry.

"Look, I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sure you'll find another love." she said. "My sister is a really good cook. Maybe I can get her to make you a pie so good that you'll forget all about the ninja's pie."

Now Prue was worried. She hoped that didn't sound like she just whored out Piper to a pirate.

"Which sister?" Barbossa asked suspiciously. "Paige didn't look like she could be cookin' worth a damn."

"Piper. She's a great cook." said Prue. And since the pirate said Paige probably couldn't cook that means that Piper was the only Halliwell that could. "She could totally be a professional."

"Then I will be acceptin' this tribute," Barbossa decided. "I also be likin' rum."

Hint, hint...

Prue sighed again. She did make him cry...

"Fine. Rum too."

"Ye can be deliverin' them t' the radio station at yer leisure," Barbossa said. "G'bye, Frank!"

He hung up.

Dealing With Stupid People [Monday, May 21]

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