There are a few times when I can cast a keen eye and stare directly into the future. Crystal. I know how something is going to go down well before it goes down. I know how something will play out and how a situation will resolve itself. Naturally, this gift serves no practical or financial purpose. I don’t know who will emerge the victor in any type of sporting event or anything type of forced physical bouts of violence and flip-kicking and such. If I did I would be rich and donating freely to a private cause close to my heart: Fan the Flame – A Cure for Flatulence.
If people knew about my spooky gift way back during the Salem With Trials of 1692, the Puritans would not have done much of anything because I was / still am, a man. They seemed more skittish of women with unearthly pagan powers.
Ah, yes. My power of prescience, prophecy, prediction, precognition, prognostication and projection. All the same power with just many synonyms.
My powers are mostly confined to those occasions where I find myself walking into a box store seeking some type of personal customer care for a product purchase that has left my underwhelmed. I just know how it’s going to pan out. Last month I bought something from a big, big store offering big, big customer savings.
Vaguely recreated interaction at Customer Service:
STORE INTERIOR
MAN (ME) STANDING AT A SERVICE COUNTER HOLDING A BOX. CUSTOMER SERVICE AGENT IS ON A CELL PHONE, LAUGHING. CUSTOMER (ME) PLACES BOX ON COUNTER. AGENT LOOKS AT BOX THEN CUSTOMER. A FEW MOMENTS PASS. AGENT ENDS PHONE CONVERSATION
“Help you?”
“Hi. I need to return this please.”
“Okay. Is there anything defective?”
“There must be. It doesn’t work at all.”
AGENT INSPECTS BOX. LOOKS AT THE BACK, FRONT, TOP, UNDER THE BOX. INSPECTS RECEIPT. INSPECTS BOX AGAIN.
“So, you want another one?”
“No. Just the money back. Thanks.”
“Is everything back in the box?”
“Yes. There was only one thing in the box when I bought it and I put the same thing back in the same box.”
“Can you insert your credit card into the machine?”
The rest of this scene begins to unfold like they have in the past, hence my prescience. The agents talk amongst themselves about stuff that has nothing to do with my big box of defective junk. The agent begins keying in numbers on a touch screen, asking where the manager is. “Gone to lunch”. Someone needs to override something with some type of swipe key or something. Then everything stalls and I’m left standing there waiting for someone to problem-solve and get me out of the store. I’ve been at this counter on a number of occasions which is why I am usually able to pre-determine the outcome. But, I didn’t see any of this coming.
“So?”
“Yes?”
“Is that it? Am I good to go?” I pull my card out.
“Not yet. We just need to override something.”
“Okay.”
Minutes pass. I step aside while the backlog works its way through their own dilemmas.
“What’s going on?” I asked my guy as he walked past me.
“Shouldn’t be much longer,” he says without missing a stride.
Minutes pass. Someone from behind the counter asks “Hey, where’s Brad*?” Brad (not his real name. His real name is Chris) is my Customer Service Agent. It’s a good question. Where is Brad? I wasn’t prepared for the answer.
“On lunch,” says a young lady who was busy assisting someone at the cash over.
Upon hearing this I walk up to the counter where my box has been pushed aside a little. No one looks at me. I have seemingly become invisible. Another weird power I have but only controlled by others. Someone walks past, making weirdly tentative eye contact with me.
He stops and ask: “Is someone helping you?” He was cringing.
“I have no idea. Someone was here and now gone. Look, can you just get me out of here?”
Then he rolled his eyes, stepped back a few steps and looked at my box.
I took a breath. “So, I need to return this please.”
“Okay. Is there anything defective?”
“There must be. It doesn’t work at all.”
“So, you want another one?”
“No. Just the money back. Thanks.”
“Is everything back in the box?”
“Yes. Yes. Can you just do what you need to do to get me out of here?”
There must have been an edge to my voice. “Okay, Mike. No worries.”
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. MIKE? Who the hell is MIKE? Then it occurred to me. I was MIKE. I was wearing a second hand shirt. There was a name tag on it. The name: MIKE. MIKE worked at MIDAS MUFFLER. Brilliant. I was now MIKE and MIKE demanded competent service. I puffed up a little – a healthy mix of bravado and role playing. I was now a shapeshifter. MIKE commanded more respect than Kevin would in this circumstance. MIKE left the clear victor. MIKE did not need to wait for Brad to get back from lunch.
After leaving the store MIKE sped to used clothing store and picked up the following shirts: ANGUS / HVAC, BARRY / STELLAR WELDING, BRUTUS / ANVIL IRON WORKS
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