Thursday, August 20, 2009

Customer Serviced

A little humor never hurts, even if it's fictional. Or is it fictional? I'll let you decide.


I have a problem that needs fixing.

So I enter the Jiffy Fixit Shoppe and wait because there is no one behind the counter. I wait some more. There is a little sign in front of me: “Customer satisfaction is our FIRST priority.” Very nice. There is a bell next to the sign: “Please ring for one of our CARING customer service agents to assist you.” Now I’m getting somewhere. An agent. Armed with the powers of deduction and a spyglass, an agent can surely get to the bottom of my problem. DING DING! No response. While I’m waiting I do a Fred Astaire air-dance with the invisible Ginger Rogers. Swoosh, dip, twirl, tap dance up one wall and down the other . . . "Heaven, I'm in heaven," I warble . . . DING FUCKING DING!

“LISTEN, YOU, LAY OFF THE DINGING!” I nearly jump out of my skin with startlement. I hear the voice, deeply male and hairy-sounding, but I don’t see it. It has bellowed at me from somewhere deep within the bowels of the ceiling, or perhaps from a concealed speaker. At least I’m hoping it’s a speaker and not a dead ancestor yelling at me from the Great Ancestral Wherever.


Mystery solved. The agent wasn’t in the bowels of the ceiling—his bowels were in the bathroom.

Suddenly he is standing in front of me, a little man who makes Tom Cruise and Kiefer Sutherland look absolutely almost tall. There is a notable disparity between voice and corpus, and Mr. Turdwhacker senses my bewilderment.

“Microphone. In the employee bathroom. Twelve hundred watt amplifier with surround sound. Gets ’em every time,” he explains with glee.

“Ah, quite effective for a ten-year-old psychopath.” I wonder if I should slap him now or wait until I’ve been customer serviced.

“You have a toaster,” he says. I was right. Mr. Turdwhacker has incredible powers of deduction, considering the fact that it is sitting on the counter right in front of him.

“Yes, yes I do have a toaster.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t toast. I have to eat my frozen chocolate Pop-Tarts frozen, so I think it needs an adjustment or two.”

“Bummer. How long have you had it?”

“Thirty-five years.”

“Oops, can’t help you there, Pops. Here, fill out this customer service satisfaction survey while I run to the bathroom. Glad I could be of service. And oh yeah, have a nice day."

Pops. Customer service satisfaction survey. Have a nice day. Before I can grab Turdwhacker by the throat and squeeze, he's disappeared again. Fast little man, and because I'm not prone to crimes of passion, I feel kind of sorry for him. I can buy a new shiny toaster for my Pop-Tarts, but he's in the back emptying the last of his brain into the . . .


PI said...

You toast Pop tarts? We toast bread and occasionally crumpets. It would help if I knew what pop tarts were but vive la difference.

savannah said...

i thought fix-it shops were a thing of the past, sugar! xoxox

Stinkypaw said...

Darn! Blogger ate my comment!

I can't believe you really freeze your Pop Tarts? Really?

Peter S. said...

This is hilarious, Charlie! Turdwhacker? Hahaha!

Charlie said...

PAT: Pop-tarts are a pastry filled with strawberries or apples and are made to be toasted for breakfast. They're mostly a kid thing, so they're full of sugar.

SAVANNAH: There are still a few fix it shops around, but you're right: they're fast disappearing like buggy whips and ice tongs.

STINKY: No, I don't freeze my Pop-Tarts. Merely an editorial error my editor didn't catch (since I don't have an editor).

PETER: I'm glad I made someone laugh. Everyone else is worried about Pop-Tarts and fix it shops.

PI said...

I did laugh - didn't you hear me?

Charlie said...

PAT: Thank you for laughing! I didn't hear you because the computer speakers were off.

kara said...

you know he didn't wash his hands.

Kim Ayres said...

I'm impressed anyone can eat pop tarts that have been frozen for 35 years!

Kim said...

I say choke the lil bastard with the toaster cord :)

Barbara Bruederlin said...

You just know he has a perfectly good toaster in excellent working condition in that bathroom. He gets to eat nice toasty pop tarts whilst emptying his brains.

Tiffin said...

Back when I was a working sod, our secretary thought it would be a Good Idea to put one of those bells on the counter when she went to lunch so that we administrative types would be able to hear people at the front desk and leap to provide service. It's a university. Give a 21 year old a bell to ring and they will not only ring it, they will play rap music on it. So I wrapped the clapper thingummy solidly with masking tape so that it made a kind of a *thwump* sound. Every day she put that bell on the counter. Every day someone would make it go *thwump* (or more accurately, thwumpa thwumpa thwumpa). I had peace for about a month before she found out.

Charlie said...

KARA: That's okay—he didn't touch my Pop-Tarts either.

KIM A: No, no, the tarts weren't 35-years-old, it was the toas . . . never mind.

KIM: Rather homicidal, aren't we? I like it.

BARBARA: Yes, the same model as mine, the dirty bastard.

TUI: I would have been tempted to remove the ringer "thingummy" altogether. Another bell, another dissected thingummy, ad infinitum.