Amusingly Fake Customer Service

I work in a small internet business, closed to the public, out of the way, and not well-marked. We often send people away when they show up unannounced to buy things we have just a few feet away. When people call in and have an attitude, we give them attitude back. The owner of the business has no qualms about personally telling a persistent and impolite customer to fuck right off. I remember once a customer called to complain about something and told my boss, "Well, you're not being very helpful. In Florida, we have a saying 'the customer is always right.'"

"Well, this is California," my boss responded. "And sometimes the customer is wrong. And you are wrong, sir. You have a nice day..." [*click*]

It was precious. Some shipping conflict or something, arguing over $9, but the point is that we are not in a position to have to be phony. I often am anyway because it's significantly easier and more efficient than calling people stupid, but the point is we don't have to be friendly with everyone. So when I go out into the world and encounter normal corporate nice-talk, polite smiling to respond to stupid questions, and an adherence to a code first and to guidelines of general common sense second, it's a marked difference from what I'm used to. It's also often very funny.

My friend, Joel, and I went food shopping the other day. Living carless and within a few blocks, we often make the trek together. We bring backpacks and conversations and other gay paraphernalia that straight guys may occasionally carry. It's fun...probably more than your lame shopping trips, so step off my nuts. Anyway, he tells me this story on the way up there. A few days back, he got a call from a friendly neighborhood telemarketer.

"Hi, sir. First of all, let me tell you I'm not going to try to sell you anything...I just want to inform you that you have qualified for a free gift...If right now you sign up for..."

"Well, I don't really think I'm interested in that right now."

"But, sir...I...have not yet described, sir....your free gift yet, sir."

"But I'm not really interested in the free gift."

"But sir, the gift...is really...(long pause)...amazing."

[laughter]

"Can I tell you about the gift, sir?"

"No." [*click*]

Ah...life's precious phony-phone moments. They're too rich for words. There's nothing more simultaneously amusing and disheartening than watching a pimply teenager adjust to fakeness, lying, corporate culture, and the institutionalized apathy of which school has given him a preparatory taste. We are all capable of saying some pretty astute stuff when we're not too busy watching out for number one or trapped in a web of meaningless decisions. Blue or black ink. What shirt. Which scent. Which tie. Which car. Which freeway. Visa or MasterCard. Number crunching. Tall or grande. Supersize or just large.

"Paper or plastic?" the cashier at the supermarket asked, after ringing up the last of my groceries.

"I have a bag, thank you." I always bring a bag. Sometimes, I really go all out with airport luggage on wheels. Sure, you get looks while you're loading up, but it's all the same once you're on the street.

My friend was in another line, and I had to wait a few minutes. So I paced near the exit, looked at the layout of this Trader Joe's, and overheard as my friend flirted with the cashier in his usual fashion. She was a redhead. It doesn't matter.

Behind the registers, there was an information booth where an employee sat and answered questions. When no one was asking anything, she watched the security screens. Taped to the booth and also covering much of the wall were some children's sloppy drawings from a coloring book.

"These kids really didn't do a very good job," I commented to the lady sitting in the booth. She seemed amused.

"Most of them weren't done by kids," she replied in a dry dark tone.

I laughed out my nose and mouth at the same time. "What do you mean?" I asked, still laughing with half my breath. "These weren't done by children?"

"Most of them were made by adults."

"Wait," still loving it. "Are you saying that you had employees sit around and color these in just to look like cute kid's art?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"So this one which says it was done by Stephanie who is age 9 wasn't really done by a girl named Stephanie who is 9-years-old?"

"Nope, that was one of our own," she answered matter-of-factly.

"That's...wow."

Probably beaming with amusement, I walked over to the register where Joel was having his food bagged and interrupted his flirting to ask him for his camera. In moments, he handed it to me and I wasted no time. I walked back, lined up the shot as best as I could with an unfamiliar camera, and took this photo:

Priceless that this was made by adults, but...

Immediately after the photo was taken, the same girl from behind the counter stood up from her seat and scolded me, "Sir, there's no photography in the store." My smile faded. She sounded mean now, as in severely horny, not getting any, and hadn't gotten any in ages. She wasn't just serious; she was stern.

I was annoyed. I was really annoyed, but I understood. She was just doing her job. I'm a big boy now. I know the rules. A few moments later, she tried to make up for the lapse in fake friendliness and added in a softer tone, "That one's fine, but there's no photography in the store."

Okay. I get it. Policy over humanity. I choose humanity. I'm leaving. On the bright side, if the policy were to be honest and upfront, I wouldn't get to mock them.

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