Profiles in Customer Service: The Returns Desk

I am a returns specialist in Hades. In my job, ya’ get to meet all kinds of people. Oh, you’re wondering what I am doing here and how come I have this job. I admit this job is a lot worse than I thought I could get. Just so you know, with the economic downturn, it was tough to find a position. I took the first job available to me. I should have known it was not as advertised; the first interview with HR was with some demon that smelled like sulfur. Then there was the management interview, if you can call it that. All I can say is my friends in the Nazi Party had nothing on this guy. So we clicked. Then of course, the last interview was with the big guy himself. It was a hell of an interview. I took the job. What the heck; marry the night. For a while, it was interesting with the coming of the Second World War and all. Then afterwards, those trials and things, damn it was like old home week seeing my old cronies. I didn’t get to talk to them. My friends never got near the returns desk. Every one of them buzzed on by, with me coughing up their smoke.

You see, a returns specialist doesn’t usually work with the pros. I mostly work with the amateurs, getting them placed in the right spot. Don’t get me wrong, some of the amateurs belong down here also, but many don’t. So I process the requests, oil the wheels, and make sure the mistakes are cleared. And there were a ton of mistakes from the war.

After the war ended, everyone was asking how it happened. I got so sick of their questions. “How could we Germans have let the Nazis take control?” “How could we French have allowed them to kill so many innocents?” “How could we English have tried appeasement?” “How could we…” Whatever! For some reason everyone had the cause of their descent into Hades on their mind. Some days I just processed the amateurs to get them the hell out of here. They knew what happened. I knew what happened. We all knew what happened. Even so, the pattern of discussion is always the same…

First, the surprise at dying, we never realize we are as ancillary as everyone else is. Then there is the denial of wrongdoing. Then there is the attempt at appeasement after the fact. Then some people get sly and try to come up with a reason, any reason, other than the real reason of what happened. Most of the amateurs get to stay here after that one. The rest are just confused; these are the majority of my returns. Then there are the others that ignored what they saw and worked to make the horrors benefit them. When these pros slip through I just ship them over to the Styx Division.

Then we had the nuclear age, when management realized the planet wasn’t going to burn up like a cinder. We were all pretty disappointed about that. Then the prosperity thing happened in the late fifties. About the time people got all wrapped up in the peace and love thing, I was furloughed. Hippies, I hate them. Around 1980, I was brought back to the returns desk. Business got better as the world dumped peace and love for greed is good. Through the nineties and then into the new millennium we had our own Internet boom as people began to believe nothing mattered except the acquisition of wealth. The line between the pro and the amateur almost disappeared, mostly because the “greed is good” thing led to the new cartels taking over.

Some people were scared of being destitute and the cartel jobs paid well. We had a tough time with those returns. The easy ones were the MBAs who concluded the cartels had it right. Then there were those who feigned ignorance. We were processing returns by the tanker-full from the other side with that one. I had to hire a student intern for all the incoming cartel personnel. When this global warming thing emerged into the common consciousness, we knew we had a big runner. I go back to school where I get a TMD, Three Monkey Degree, in denialist logic. No one wants a mistake on a return.

Then a funny thing: I begin to notice everyone at the desk has that same old look of confusion, like when I started here in the 1932. The mantra do jour is once again, “There’s no way to stop them.” And of course, “We are doomed.” Music to my ears and with the TMD and the boom in denialism, I soon became manager of the department.

These last few months I even started hearing that old, “I would not have been so evil if I wasn’t so scared.” Pathetic, but understandable, occasionally I refer the moaning-ones to Buddhists who have taken up begging by the gates. The bardos are not much fun to network with; they’re okay I guess, and when someone gets under their skin there’s hell to pay. Their referrals are always worth a hoot with staff after work.

Then today I hear: “What has happened to us? How could this have happened? There is nothing I could have done.” Funny how what is old is new again. No matter–the good news is I am learning American slang from all the newbies and I’ve gotten a couple of bitchin’ CDs. I am also beginning to think we should go public. (Word is Wall Street and the banks are hungry for a major IPO.) We’re on the edge of glory here.

I can’t wait for the next phase, when the population figures out appeasement of evil will not lead to peace in their time. Then the real fun begins…Again. By the way, we have an opening at the returns desk. Send over your resume and don’t worry; we’ve convinced the demon in HR to ditch the sulfur aftershave. He’s replaced it with fracking fluid.