By Brett McNew
“Thank you for calling NewU Life Agency, where your dream life is only a phone call away. This is Zoran. How may I be of assistance?” The demon stifled a yawn with a clawed hand.
The customer was yelling into their end of the phone. Zoran blinked his pupilless jet-black eyes and leaned his chair back to stare at the office ceiling with a long sigh. A touch of smoke escaped the demon’s lips.
He studied four pencils hanging in the cheap ceiling tiles from yesterday, then glanced at the cubical next to him. Feemaween, who hadn’t been right since the middle ages, was carefully drawing a mustache on his newest kitten poster, ignoring the angry voice he had on speakerphone.
“Oh yes, Ms. Rhubarb,” Zoran picked up a NewU Life pen and licked the tip, which melted. He grimaced before dropping it into the trashcan and picking up another, “I completely understand your frustration. Two and a half hours on hold is quite too long. I’m placing your complaint with management.” He scribbled a note, tore it off the sheet, and tossed it over his shoulder.
“The name is Mrs. Rubosol,” the customer wailed.
“Quite right, Mrs. Rube. My apologies. How can I be of assistance today?” Zoran scratched the end of his goat-like snout with one sharp talon. A large black fly buzzed around his cubicle.
“This new life! It’s all wrong. I was promised a faithful husband, to be filthy rich, and to be adored by the general public,” the customer said in a voice that sounded very much like the bleating of a sheep.
“Ah yes, that sounds like the Desperate Housewife package, quite popular in the Midwest. One of our best sellers. Let me pull up your account, Mrs. Bloomberg.”
“Rubosol!”
“Exactly.” Zoran’s talons clacked away on his keyboard. He frowned as the fly landed on his computer screen.
“And it was the Reality Star Gravy Train package.”
“Hrm, it looks like here, you signed up for the “Well, it Could Always be Worse” economy package. The Gravy Train package is a premium package.” Zoran slowly moved a claw towards the battery-powered Zapper leaning against his desk. His forked tongue stuck out the corner of his muzzle as he squinted at the fly.
“I know it’s a premium package, that’s why I went for it! I’ve been cheated, and I demand a refund!”
Zoran swung the fly swatter. He missed the fly, instead hitting the stress ball off his desk into the opposite wall. The ball ricocheted over his head, and at that moment Goorp walked past holding a World’s Okayest Demon coffee mug in one paw. The ball smacked Goorp in the eye. The beardemon stumbled, slipped on the crumpled-up complaint, and flung his coffee on Feemaweem. Feemaweem howled in pain and ran in circles, screaming about holy water. Demonic heads leaned out of cubicles to watch the commotion.
“Did you hear me? I said I demand a refund! I invoke my sacred refund clause!” the customer screeched.
Zoran watched Feemaween run from the scene still screaming. Goorp looked down at his empty coffee mug then lumbered back toward the coffee pot.
“Invoking your sacred refund clause, Mrs. Rolly, is a very serious issue,” Zoran drawled. “I assume you know that an inappropriate claim would forfeit your contract and force the NewU Life Agency to collect payment immediately.” He hovered the mouse icon over a skull and crossbones button on the customer’s account page.
“Now wait a moment, let’s not get hasty. I signed up for the Reality Star package, and I don’t have anything listed on the information page. I want what I paid for,” the customer moaned like disgruntled cattle.
Zoran grunted and scrolled down the account page.
“Ah, I see now. Well, Mrs. Hashbrown, it appears you did sign up for the Reality Star Gravy Train package and what excellent taste you have, might I say. It’s a trendy choice with YouTubers who want to get paid for existing. But as a premium new life package, it cannot be purchased with any discount. At checkout, you used the code ‘BestPodLife’ for a 20% discount on total payment due. Using a discount automatically switches your new life to one of our economy packages after two weeks.”
“What? I wasn’t told that. Tomamama said I could use the discount code on any package.”
“That’s true, but before two weeks time, you have to log back into your account and drop the discount code, or you will be automatically assigned a new life package congruent to the amount agreed upon.”
“Where was that stated? Tomamama didn’t mention anything about that. I didn’t agree with that!”
“On September 16th, you agreed to exactly that by clicking the ‘I fully agree to all these terms and conditions of my own free will, cross my heart and hope to die’ button. Article 38 inside those terms, clearly states that no discount code can be used on any premium package. If one is inserted at checkout, you have two weeks to fix the situation or your NewU Life will be automatically randomized with an economy package.”
“But those terms were hundreds of pages long and in Latin. Tomamama said it would be okay,” the customer wailed.
“Classic Tomamama, always getting confused on what matters to mortals.” Zoran grinned broadly, revealing hundreds of sharp fangs.
“Excuse me? This is my life we’re talking about.”
“Actually, it’s your new life we’re talking about. You were an unmarried forty-seven-year-old second-grade teacher with IBS and liver spots, but that life wasn’t enough for you. So you came to us and sold your soul for the good life. Just like everyone else, you tried to get out cheap, so you used a discount code from a podcast of all things. I apologize your new life isn’t exactly what you hoped for, but as is true of most lives, it’s what you make of it.”
Silence hung in the air until Zoran’s chair squeaked loudly as he leaned back and laced his talons behind his scaly head. A long stream of smoke drifted lazily from his muzzle and swirled about his horns.
“But, but,” the customer whimpered, “my new husband just ran off with his secretary.”
“Well—” Zoran closed his eyes and smiled. “It could always be worse.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I knew the people who write those underliner clauses must be demons.
(Note: If you’re one of those people, ignore above statement. Totally joking.)
(To everyone else: Totally not joking.)
Ha, you know they must be.
This was funny and ridiculous but I love how it came back around to have a moral to it.
Nothing tops a good legal runaround. I highly enjoyed that.
Thanks, everyone! I appreciate the comments.
This is one of my favorite Wacky Wednesday stories! Genius, and super amusing. Loved it!
Wow, thanks so much! You made my day.
Ha! Good one. A modern day Aesop’s Fable. The moral of the tale: Desperate housewives should never use discount codes off the Internet. Very similar to “Never buy collector toys off eBay from China, no matter how good the deal is.” (Don’t ask me how I know.)
That is a truth to pass down to our children’s children.
Hahaha, great office antics. The “World’s Okayest Demon” mug was a particular highlight.
Well done. A cross between Screwtape Letters and The Office. I’m intrigued to know about her getting a 20% discount on selling her soul. Does that mean she gets let out of Hell for 6 days a month?