The Department of Customer Service

The Department of Customer Service

I really hate standing in line. I never know quite what to do with my eyes. I like to look at people, but I don't want them to think I'm staring at them. Move up a space. My hands are not very good at standing in line, either. They have to be holding something, or they just sort of hang there, waiting for an assignment. Move up a space. Maybe if I just close my eyes, and think happy thoughts - you know, birds and flowers, maybe a nice sunset over one of those two pretty places in Kansas I saw when I was little. Move up a space. Nah. I'd just start humming and smiling or something, and I'd be asked to leave. Many people get uncomfortable around happy, humming strangers. Move up a space, almost there. I'd better look for my receipt and wallet. That will give my hands something to do. Oh, geez. My pocket was twisted. Untangling my keys from inside my front pocket ought to make everyone more at ease with me in line. Try not to smile during the procedure.

"May I help you?" The little lady who had been in front of me in line left the window, looking perplexed and still holding her receipt and original article. The pudgy fellow behind the counter grinned to himself as he checked off a few things behind her back on a clipboard he kept for just such occasions. He folded his fingers and peered dully at me as I approached, as if I did this to him every day.

"Yes. I recently purchased this little government here, and silly me, the color is simply not what I expected. I guess it looked a little different in the store display. May I see one in natural light, before we replace this one?"

"Well. Let's take a look here." He squinted at it for my benefit before laying it flatly on the counter before him, and proclaiming; "Nope, that's the one we had on special. We even ran ads for it for nearly a year, showing exactly how we wanted it to look."

"Yes, well, I don't mean to be a bother, but it doesn't look at all like the one in the ads."

"Honestly, now sir. You cannot expect us to sell this item by simply showing it plainly. Why, it would look just like the one our competitor sells. We have to, you know, jazz it up a little. Everyone does it. You ought to know that, if you've ever bought one before." I could tell that my receipt was becoming less valuable by the second.

"You know, now that you mention it, I did buy one here before, and I had the same problem with it. I didn't make a big stink about it 'cause I figured I could alter it and put up with it for a bit until the new lines came out. But you see here?" I lifted the lifeless thing off of his counter, to which he started a bit, as if I were jabbing into his personal space with my dagger of discontent. People in authority can be so touchy. "Right here, around in back. It is soiled in places where it is hard to see right away. I think this is why the color is all wrong. I've tried washing it, but every time I try to clean it up, it gets bigger! Imagine that." Having surely made my case, I prepared triumphantly to receive instructions on how to proceed with my refund or exchange.

"You washed it, and you expect us to accept it back? This is now not the same article you purchased, and we cannot be held responsible when customers try to alter our goods." With all the authority that job security could bestow, he tittered slightly before forming his well-oiled lips into position to call the next person in line, who was fumbling for his receipt, and trying to look prepared.
"Nex.......mmph."

As I removed my hand, I began calmly. "Look, I know you want to make this right. After all, my patronage pays your bills. So, can you tell me what I might do in order to get one of these things that I might actually like? You know I'm not one of those who think we could do without them altogether; they do have their utility. It's just that I'd like one the right size and in a color that I can count on.

"There's no reason to be rude". He began, completely oblivious to himself actually being a wonderful reason to become so. "According to the label, this is a Demo Bros. model. Have you thought about trying one from the Republican Breeze Collection?" I wonder about people who become so enamored with brand names that they actually think tags are a big deal. I bet they never have to buy tennis shoes for kids.

"You know, I've worn both, but really can't tell much difference between them once I put them on. The ads always make them look different. I guess that's just me. I've always thought I was one of those fortunate fellows who could wear just about anything. But now I'm just looking for comfort and economy, since I need most of the money I've budgeted toward these things for my family. Style just doesn't count for much anymore. Got anything in Third-Party Wear?"

Deeply offended, my friendly bureauclerk gasped; "Oh, sir, we couldn't possibly sell you that line. You'd just be throwing away your purchase. Nobody wears those!" He hoped.

"Tell you what." I postulated good-naturedly. "How about if I just keep the one I bought, since you don't really have any compelling interest in letting me exchange it, and next time I am told I need one, I don't go shopping until there's a better selection. I'll just hang on to the money until a store opens that carries a better line?" The folks behind me had by this time gotten a bit cranky, and having exhausted the supply of songs they knew how to hum to themselves, had overheard this last bit of conversation.

"Yeah, We'd like one a bit softer,” piped the effeminate couple in the back, dressed all in fatigues.

"Can I have mine in Red?" From the heavily mustachioed gentleman near the front.

"How about one with extra pockets?" Queried a dapper businessman

"I want one that is made in the U.S.". Grumbled a construction worker with 'MOM" tattooed across his forehead.

"Have you anything without arms"? Someone asked in a distinctly Swiss accent.

"Perhaps I could just buy the material and make my own?...
"I'd like one that I wouldn't see anybody else with"...
"Do they make one like this, only smaller?"...
"My dad and my dad's dad had ones just like this, and I'll never look at any other!"...
"I don't like this one, It's too tight around the neck"...
"Hey, what about one that glows in the dark?"...
"Can I have one that doesn't say 'Nike', or 'Pepsi' on it?'...

The chorus grew as more and more items, looking strikingly similar to the one that had started all this trouble, were dropped to the floor.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the store, sir." My friendly customer service specialist droned with a nod to security.

"Sorry for all the hubbub. I really didn't mean to cause a stir. I just wanted to get what I paid for." The others in line, seeing that the queue had advanced now that I had exited, picked up their articles, dropped their requests, and continued acting as if they weren't looking at anything at all, just the way I had been doing a few moments ago. "Can I have a rain check?" I asked the nice man who escorted me silently to the door.

After waiting around outside for awhile, I re-entered the store, with my original receipt and item in hand. Walking past the security guy and coming into view of the same pudgy fellow behind the counter, nothing at all happened. They see this kind of thing all the time, and when you deal with the public, everyone begins to look alike after a while. 'Oh, well', I thought, as I took my place at the end and between the tasteful, blue velvet guide ropes. At least it's nice to know what to expect. Did I mention that I own this store? Well, I do. But I still hate waiting in line.