Customer Service Purgatory

The last thing I remember before my demise was my encounter with the manager at my favorite clothing store.

“Let me speak to your manager,” I demanded with my arms as crossed as my attitude was. The associate whispered something into her headset and her manager quickly arrived.

“Ma’am, those clothes were misplaced on the sale’s rack. Unfortunately, they are priced as marked,” the manager explained.

“That’s bullshit! I found them on sale and I want to purchase them at the sale price.”

“There is no sale price, ma’am. These items are not discounted – I couldn’t even make up a sale price for you.”

“I would like to speak to your manager. Get me the number for your corporate office.”

“We don’t have corporate’s number, unfortunately. But our customer service number is printed at the top of our receipt,” she handed a short slip of paper to me. I snatched it from her grasp.

“This is ridiculous and unprofessional! I’ve had it here. I will be calling your corporate office, Rebecca… what’s your last name?”

“I do not have to provide…”

But I was already walking towards the exit, “Alright, more bullshit I see. Well, thank you, Rebecca! This is not the last you will hear from me.” I was livid and my rant would be heard even upon leaving the store. “I am a paying customer, and I deserved to be treated like one. I pay YOUR salary!”

The blazing sun of the summer’s day intensified my anger as I opened the door to exit. It was too bright, and I couldn’t see – I shielded my eyes and kept trudging ahead, “Next time you look at this storefront, my name will be on it!”

I stomped along a little further – no more than 5 steps – still screaming, and then nothing.

I woke up here, in a stuffy room that is no more than 8x8 feet, sitting at a desk and wondering where the hell that tiny slip of receipt paper went. Two doors appear on opposite sides of the room – one in front and one behind me. The one behind me opens to reveal a small woman, her arms filled with file folders and clipboards. She enters the room and drops the pile on the desk.

“Where am I?”

“You dead,” she responds flatly while dropping a clipboard onto my lap. “Read quickly. Your shift is starting soon.” She turns and walks back through the door in which she came.

I look down at the clipboard, it has three sheets of paper held down by the metal clip. The first page verifies the woman’s story – I am dead. Apparently, I walked out in front of a bus while yelling about my discounts not being received. The second page, skimming through, is a job description. And the third page is a script. “I don’t understand…”

A red light appears above the door facing me – it begins to blink, slowly at first before flashing more rapidly. I hurriedly flip back to the second page. “Customer service representative?” A name badge appears on my shirt. I try to rip it off, but it’s as if it has melted onto my shirt – maybe into my skin!

The light stops flashing and I hear the door ahead unlock. In rushes an angry woman, maybe in her mid-50s, and she does not look happy.

“Yeah, I need to talk to somebody about why I’m here. I am not supposed to be here. I am a God-fearing Christian. There must be some kind of mistake,” her country accent reminded me of the states along the Bible belt.

I look at her blankly before remembering the script on page three. “I’m sorry that you feel that way. As you and I both know, God doesn’t make mistakes. So it’s no accident that you are here…”

“Bullshit!” the christian woman screams. “This is outrageous! I wanna speak to your manager. They told me you’d be able to help, but you’re obviously too stupid. Get me your manager.”

I skim the script again, “I’m sorry… um… but management is not in at this time…”

“Ohhh… here we go with this again!”

“This is like hell,” I whisper under my breath.

“No, smart ass, this is hell. Didn’t you know? There’s a line of us waiting out there, and we’re all pissed!”

I yank at my name tag again. This time I feel my skin stretch along with it and snap back with my release, like a rubber band. Oh shit, is this forever?

“So you got a number I can call or something, Rachel?” she questioned while squinting at my name tag. “And what’s your last name?”