Customer Service

You did the math. You scanned all the checkout lines like a general surveying a battlefield, counted carts, judged basket size, and spotted it: the short line. Two people, a few items each, no drama in sight. You slid in feeling brilliant, which is exactly when the universe noticed you.

Every unwanted email begins with a tiny act of optimism. You scroll to the very bottom, past the sale that is somehow always ending today, and you find the word unsubscribe written in a font so small it should require a magnifying glass and a notary. You click it. You fool. You absolute dreamer.

You pull up to the drive-thru speaker with a simple plan. One burger, one fries, one drink. Nothing fancy, nothing custom, nothing that requires a meeting. Then a voice arrives through the speaker that sounds like it is broadcasting from the bottom of a swimming pool, during a thunderstorm, through a tin can.

There is no lie in modern life quite as confident as those three little words: out for delivery. They arrive in the morning, bright and full of promise. Your package is on a truck. That truck is somewhere near you. Sometime today, a human will place a box in your hands or at your door, and the small errand you started online days ago will finally be complete.

Except it is now Tuesday. It was also out for delivery on Monday. And, if the tracking page is to be believed, for a brief and mysterious period on Sunday, when you are fairly sure no truck was thinking about you at all.

You pulled in because the little orange light came on, not because you wanted a conversation. You are already late, it is already raining sideways, and all you need is gas. The pump, however, has plans. The pump would like to get to know you first.

Insert card. Remove card. No, not that fast. Insert it again and leave it in. Now remove it, quickly, but not suspiciously quickly. Enter your ZIP code, because apparently gasoline is now a secure transaction between you and your hometown. Get one digit wrong in the rain and you get to start the whole relationship over.

Every customer service call begins with a lie, and the lie is this: "Your call is important to us." If the call were important, a person would answer it. Instead, you get a robot with the warmth of a parking ticket, reading you a menu longer than the one at a diner.

There is a special kind of betrayal that happens under fluorescent lights, holding a gallon of milk, when a machine calmly announces to the entire store: unexpected item in the bagging area. You did not steal anything. You did not try anything clever. You simply placed your groceries exactly where groceries are supposed to go, and now you are a suspect in a crime against produce.

Prepaid debit cards are marketed as simple financial tools for people who want to avoid banks. The Federal Reserve found that one of the biggest issuers in the business was making things anything but simple, and it fined the company $44 million for it.

Multi-level marketing companies love to talk about freedom, entrepreneurship, and being your own boss. The Federal Trade Commission just had a $225 million conversation with Amway about what happens when the earnings pitch does not match the reality.

Nothing triggers a dopamine rush like a flashing "70% OFF" banner. France's consumer watchdog has a message for shoppers: that discount might be a mirage, and it just fined fast-fashion retailer Boohoo 2.3 million euros for allegedly manufacturing them.