I disguise myself as a lowly “customer service associate” at a local branch of an international chain of office supply stores. At first glance, I appear to be as lowly as any other human. Perhaps lowlier, for I have taken to myself the icons of the servile - the nametag, the pasted-on smile, and the unmistakable uniform of store-branded polo shirt and well-worn khaki trousers. Yet I am omnipotent. I have amazing powers of discernment, memory, and stuff-findy. I am a god. A very lowly god, but a goddess nevertheless.
“I can’t find a widget.”
“What sort of a widget do you seek, sir?”
“A widget for a doohickie. Y’know, the grey doohickie by Huge Corporation That Makes Billions Of Grey Doohickies, Each Of Which Takes A Different Widget.”
“Do you know which model of doohickie you own?”
“That’s your job. You should know what I need. You’re getting paid for it.”
How right you are, sir! Excuse me as I engage my Psychic Powers to discover exactly which of the approximately nine dozen widgets we have in the store is the correct one for your unknown doohickie.
“Find my pencils for me.”
“Which kind were you looking for?”
“They’re exactly 7 3/8 inches long, with a diameter of just under one quarter inch, 6mm lead and they are blue on the outside.”
“Are these it?”
“No, those are 7 3/8 inches long, but their diameter is exactly one quarter inch, which is too thick, and their lead only comes in 5mm or 7mm.”
“How about these?”
“No. The lead is the right thickness, but they are the wrong shade of blue.”
“These?”
“No, those are all wrong! I know I bought my pencils here two years ago. I demand that you find my pencils and give them to me right now - you must have them somewhere.”
I sincerely apologize for my obvious lack of foresight in reserving your pencil orders from two years ago. How could I have neglected such an obvious use of my omnipotence?
“I want to buy this laminating machine.”
“Ok. Did you have any questions about it first? Do you need to get the sheets to go with it, perhaps?”
“No, but I want you to give me a percentage off.”
“Ma’am?”
“I bought my printer here two months ago.”
“Do you like it?”
“And last year I bought a computer here.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve spent a lot of money here.”
“I suppose you have.”
“So I want you to give me a percentage off from this laminating machine.”
“Let me call my manager and see what we can do about that for you.”
“If you don’t give me at least $25 off this laminating machine, I’m not going to buy it. I bought an entire case of paper here just yesterday!”
How could I fail to give you a 40% discount upon hearing that you spent about $20 here yesterday, and $150 a few months back? I could never bear to lose your amazingly spendiferous custom.
“The stockboy says you’re all out of blank gift certificate forms.”
“Let me take a gander at the computer inventory to double-check that for you… Yes, sir, I’m sorry, but we are out of stock on that. If you’d like, I could order some for you through our internet service, and have them shipped directly to your home or office.”
“No, I need them today.”
“Would you like me to call one of our other nearby stores, and see if they have some you could buy?”
“No, I need them today and I’m not driving all the way to another town for them. Find me some.”
“Sir, the best I could do for you would be to find the closest store that has them in stock, and have them set some aside for you. In fact, if you absolutely need them tonight, I could even go pick them up for you at the other location and bring them back here if that’s more convienent.”
“No. I want you to give me some right now.”
Allow me to pull them out of my magical anus of power, which has the ability to create whatever you want instantly out of the same material as resides between your ears!
There is a classic conversation that consists entirely of the customer pushing a laden cart up to my register, looking me in the eyes and saying “I work for Local Business.”
This is my cue to use my omnipotence to ascertain that he is informing me not only that this is a business purchase, but how he is going to pay. He intends to use the business’ credit account. He does not, of course, intend to give me the account number, nor will he understand that I need the account number to process the transaction. He will probably become belligerent, and when he is forced to telephone the office (for free, using the telephone that I provide for his use, and sitting in a chair near my counter, while writing with my pen on my scratch pad) he will blame me for his wasted time. The concept of credit accounts being the same as credit cards is lost on him. It is rather like walking up to me and saying “I have a Visa.”
I try my very hardest to use my omnipotence for good and to remain unfailingly pleasant and polite to all of my superiors who choose to grace me with their presence each day… but sometimes, it is so very, very difficult not to simply pull out the world’s smallest violin and entertain all with a moving rendition of “My Heart Bleeds Purple Piss For You”…
