Man on the phone: "This is Dale, I'm at Wrigley Field, dude, and it's thundering and lightening up here and it's my birthday and my birthday is ruined cause it's thundering and lightening so can I come trade in my tickets for the Cubs that I payed a lot of money for cause it's my birthday and then see your show?"
Me: "I'm sorry, no."
Him: "It's my birthday and it's ruined."
Me: "......"
Him: "So do I get a discount if I come to your show cause it's my birthday and it's ruined?"
Me: "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not."
Him: "Dude, it's my fucking birthday and it's ruined. I come to see your show what benefit do I get since it's my birthday."
Me (that I want to say): "Dude, you get to see the fucking show. That's your fucking benefit."
Me (to him): "I'm sorry, we don't have any additional benefits to offer."
Him: "Jesus, Dude, you just don't fucking get that ---" At which point I hung up on his drunk ass.
For the record: I then went over and opened the office door to the street. It was not thundering nor was it "lightening." Nor was it raining.
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