Just Want To Spit on Somebody: Fictional COVID Satire
I once worked in customer service. You know, the job where you paste a smile on your face when all you want to do is let that other person have what ought to be coming to them. But of course, you keep the smile, keep the words, and keep on serving. For the small, silly reason that you want to keep your job (though, those of us that have quit, know that we’d never take such a job back. Even when our bosses have told us over and over, “Oh, but you were made for customer service!”).
Hah. Made for it.
But how the world has changed.
Now, or so I heard, rude customer service is encouraged. Of course, only for the correct political reasons. Maybe I would have stayed in the business, had it been so in my day . . .
But then maybe not. Back then I definitely had my moments of wishing to spit in people’s faces. But now . . . with that warning constantly being bombarded into my eardrums, I’m sure I’d not be able to curb the temptation.
Back then I’d merely have been fired. I’m thinking it might be a hate crime now. Don’t know. Nearly tried it the other day when some employee thought they had to let me know I was out of place for not wearing a mask.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing neither to educate nor be educated. “I can’t wear a mask.”
I thought she’d leave me alone. To be fair, normally they leave me alone.
But no. Suddenly she was right in my space, so close I had to clench my jaw tight to keep from spitting. What happened to personal space? Before all this, I loved my bubble just like any other introvert. I was rather glad when I’d heard it was politically correct to keep six feet apart. Guess that only applies if you’re not in customer service.
“You have to wear a mask in this store,” she said again.
I backed away so that I could breathe with my mouth open. “I’m sorry,” I replied. “I can’t.”
“Then you can’t shop here.”
“Alright.” I turned to leave. I guess I’d save a few dollars today.
But the woman grabbed me. “You do know that people like you are the reason our country hasn’t been able to return to normal.”
Normal? I wanted to laugh. I guess propaganda from both sides would have them believe there once had been something remotely called normal. I simply said. “Oh?”
She blocked my path, clearly not going to move until her venting was finished.
I crossed my arms, waiting.
“All you self-righteous conservatives thinking that some delusional form of liberty is more important than people’s lives and that you’re better than me because you can smile—”
“Actually, I like my glare to be visible.”
“ —at the rest of us who actually care about oth—excuse me?”
“I don’t cover my face, because I want people to see my ever-present gloom. And I like to be able to spit when necessary.”
I’m glad she was wearing a mask because the woman sputtered. Finally, she said. “Why don’t you all just stop denying COVID’S threat. This thing is real and lives are at stake.”
“Oh, I’m not denying COVID. And that is why I’m careful with who I spit on.”
With that she, at last, backed away from me, giving me the personal space I so much desired.
My good manners kicked in once more. “Good day, ma’am.”
And so I left.
But not before I watched her take her vengeance out on a couple unmasked teens, beating them over the backs with a box of trash bags.
Yes, indeed. What has modern customer service come to?
Ah, but how can I blame her? Because once I wanted to do the same. I wonder if she felt better for it?
“Hey, lady,” they shouted. “That’s assault!”
“You must wear masks!”
*The month of April is for COVID. Because even though none of us want to hear about it anymore, I accidentally wrote a few pieces. This story is satirical fiction.