Semi-Fiction by Daniel Rigney
I was in ScanMart's grocery emporium this morning to pick up some bananas and a six-pack of protein shakes. The shortest checkout line was longer than I expected at 10 in the morning. I tried to wait patiently, but boredom and frustration were setting in. Seizing this tedious moment as an opportunity for spiritual growth, I began to chant my centering mantra in a subvocal monotone.
I reached the front of the line after what seemed like an eternity. The cashier greeted me with what I presume was one of the officially-approved greetings. She asked me how I was doing today. Fine, thanks.
Would this be cash, credit or debit? Debit, please.
She gestured toward the swipe machine. I swiped my card.
PIN? Okay. Hit Enter. It went through on the third try.
As the cashier scanned the clear plastic safety-sealed container of bananas, she asked whether I would like something called the Customer Satisfaction Guarantee on this purchase for just an additional 20 cents per pound. This would allow me to bring back unused bananas within a week, with receipt, provided they had not been peeled or allowed to brown. That sounded fair. Okay.
Buying the six-pack of protein shakes proved more complicated. Not only was there the Customer Satisfaction Guarantee to decide about, but also the fleeting opportunity, available for a limited time to valued customers, to join the Frequent Shaker’s Special Rewards Program. If I visited the protein provider’s website (proshakerific.com) and registered within 30 days, I would be eligible to win prizes that included a month’s supply of new pomegranate-flavored protein shakes.
Let me think about it.
Would I like to add a $1 donation to our Good Cause of the Week? Okay. Sounds like a good cause.
Finally, the cashier asked pleasantly whether I had my ScanMart discount card today, and if not, would I like to apply for one? She would need my e-mail address to complete my request to become a member of the worldwide ScanMart Family. She assured me the company would not be sending me promotional messages, and that if they mistakenly did so, I could simply unsubscribe to them.
And would I like to be friended on Facebook or followed on Twitter? Not today, but thanks.
By now I was getting impatient again with the process of going through customer customs. It was like airport customs, but not as fast. No wonder the line had been so slow.
Once again I seized this moment as an opportunity for spiritual growth. I began to chant my mantra (USA. USA…) in a subvocal monotone. My calm acceptance of corporate reality restored, I made my way toward the sensors at the store’s security exit checkpoint.
Was customer customs inconvenient? Yes. But it’s a small price to pay for the small prices we pay.
No comments:
Post a Comment