21. Stretch
21
Stretch
The next time I went into True Tech, it was unreasonably busy. People clutched newspaper ads or checked their phones for model numbers aligning with Black Friday and Cyber Monday pricing. The buzz of questions rose high enough to infect the sanctity of my headphones while I installed a few apps on someone’s new desktop.
A middle-aged woman in a silver-embroidered sari flipped a flier over my screen. “I want the $200 laptop for Black Friday.”
I brushed the paper away. “No, you don’t.”
“What?” She scowled, her voice sharp enough to draw Ash’s attention from across the room.
Ah, I shouldn't have said that. I slid my headphones down and tilted my cap up. “What are you using it for?”
“Emails,” she said.
I folded my hands. “How long do you plan to use it?”
She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know. Five, ten years?”
I sighed. How should I phrase my assessment? Gigs and RAM comparisons would be meaningless to her. A metaphor would be best. “That computer is a $200 paperweight,” I said.
The lady leaned on my desk. “I doubt it. Why would you sell something so bad?”
I snorted and typed away. “Because some people insist that’s all they need, and they usually buy the same model to replace it because they’re too cheap to admit it’s a mistake.”
“Are you calling me cheap?” the lady bellowed, clutching her ePhone 15 in her other hand.
Ash frowned at us, hurrying another customer’s transaction.
Shit. I didn’t mean to call her that, but if the diagnoses fit…
There had to be a nicer, straightforward way to say it.
I spoke slowly so as not to blurt out the first thing in my head. “We’ve had people upgrade within a year because that’s how long it lasts before updates clog the hardware. If you have a lot of emails with attachments, it’ll take a long time to access them. You want instant satisfaction, right? Or at least something more substantial than your phone hardware. I’m guessing you paid more than $200 for that.”
She huffed and pointed to the flier. “I want the laptop for $200.”
“Okay. I’m not a salesperson, I’m a tech; so if that is what you decide, you can work with them.” I gestured to the sales floor.
She narrowed her gaze, scanning for a name tag. “Why are you making a suggestion if you’re not a salesperson?”
“Because I have to fix them. I know the problems. I get tickets from frustrated customers asking why they can’t video chat with their grandkids. I can answer their emails, which is probably the ‘only’ thing they needed the laptop for when they went shopping, but I can’t replace their processor given the specs. If you want a good deal on a laptop for basic functions with room to grow for five years or more, I recommend the one next to it in that ad. Look up the reviews. Your decision has no impact on me or any commission. After all, I’m just a tech.” I flashed her a smile and tipped my cap .
Her eyes widened. She whipped around and hissed something at a man loitering by some kids fighting over a tablet for Craft Cove. They argued to the point I hoped they left rather than bought anything and extended their stay.
The second Ash was available, they flagged her down.
Shit . I squared my shoulders and tried to focus on the task in front of me. My fingers flew across the keys. The lady gestured to her flier, then to me.
Great. I was part of the story. The complaint, more likely. Everyone was gesturing. Even Ash bristled under their scrutiny.
Oh, god. What were they saying?
The man threw up his hands and left, but the woman pointed to the ad and stayed.
Ash sent me a withering glare.
Sorry. I raised my shoulders incrementally, then glanced out the window. No bubbles. No drones. Just flocks of people, and not the one I wanted.
I messaged Sal under the pretense of working.
Me: No demonstrations today? I could use a distraction.
Sal: What’s up?
Me: Customers are annoying, and I’m pretty sure Ash is mad at me.
The ‘now typing’ ellipses danced across the screen, then disappeared.
I sighed. Apparently, friends with benefits didn’t mean he’d immediately respond to me. It was fine, though. We were working. Or something.
My eyes glazed over as the installation progress bar ticked closer to completion. This was hardly stimulating.
My chat box pinged.
Sal: I’m sure she’s not mad at you. And if she is, it’ll only be for a little bit. She just gets tense when she’s busy.
I wasn’t so sure about that. She marched to the stock room without glancing at me, her jaw clenched. Hopefully, that customer still bought something.
Me: We’ll be busy all day, thanks to these ads. It’s a weird energy.
Sal: Holiday season can be funky. Wish you could see it from my side, though. We get lots of people excited to buy something that makes them or their loved ones happy. An experience or a celebration. It’s a want, not a need, you know? Something fun. Something they can learn from. Something to love.
Me: That sounds beautiful.
I furrowed my brow. Sometimes, it was hard to know what people wanted. Or at least hard for me to respect that if it didn’t make sense. They needed something else. Something better. Not that it was my place to comment, in most cases. Like relationships. Here, though, I was an expert. So, why were people angry with my analysis?
The customer in the sari huffed and strode off with her bags, so focused on sending side-eye my way she almost barreled into a guy in a beige shirt trying to get inside.
“Zero,” Ash clipped, striding toward my desk.
“Yes?” I stood and straightened my spine like a chastened child.
My parents would have a field day if they ever saw the security tapes.
“I love you,” she said, “But don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what? Share an opinion?” Talk to other humans?
“Talk badly about any of our products. If you do that, the customer thinks she’s being cheated by us or her cheap husband. Or, worse, that you’re implying she’s an idiot. It puts everyone on the defense,” she said, using her tablet to gesture to the crowd.
I swallowed back an objection. Defensiveness was bad in a customer service setting. It never served me well in my robotics either. “Sorry about that. ”
“It’s okay.” She sighed, winding her way around the counter to plug her tablet in. “Mostly because she ended up buying two laptops.”
“What? Which model?” I peeked at her screen.
“The cheap one for her husband, and the upgrade for herself.” She smirked and nudged my arm. “Way to go. Even if they return one or you don’t get a commission, I’d count it as your first sale.”
“No. Not even close.” Heartburn bubbled up my throat with a strangled chuckle. I tugged my cap and looked away. I wanted nothing to do with that woman. Or sales. Especially since it was bound to turn out badly.
Customers clustered around the entrance and my desk. The guy in the beige shirt awkwardly bumbled amid the foot traffic, blocking one door as he spun to the exit. “Ah, sorry,” he muttered.
“Sal?” I tilted my head. That shirt was so tame, I almost didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” Ash asked.
He paled and dramatically stepped aside. “Hey, ladies. Not much. Just stretching my legs. It’s good to keep the blood circulating.” He winced, brushing his hair.
Ash swapped out her tablet for a charged one. “Well, stretch as much as you want, but we’re busy, so try to stay out of the way.”
“She’s just stressed. She loves me." He jerked his thumb at my boss.
“I figured," I said. Who wouldn’t love him? I smiled and pulled my cap lower, my insides tangling at the implication and Ash's affectionate eyeroll. “H-how are you?” I asked him.
“Good. But I can see you’re busy, so I’ll get out of your hair.” He saluted us, then twisted around.
My heart raced and my breathing trembled. Had he come for me? My distraction ?
I quickly set up the next application load-screen for the customer computer. “Hey, Ash? This will take about ten minutes to install. Do you mind if I take my break?”
“Now?” She glanced at the busy sales floor. But those people weren’t here for me.
I played with the pockets in my burned fleece and glanced after Sal. He was leaving. Almost gone.
Ash sighed and waved me off. “Go, stretch your legs.”
“Thanks.” I tipped my cap and hurried after Sal, slipping past our customers. “Wait up,” I called to his semi-slumped backside.
He turned and widened his eyes. “Oh, hey.”
“Hi.” I stopped in front of his store, grinning stupidly.
“Did you want to talk to me?” He glanced at True Tech and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“No. I mean, yes, but not about anything in particular.” Did I need to prepare something?
He flicked his goatee. “Oh, I thought maybe you reconsidered the whole friends with benefits thing.”
“Why would I?” I frowned. He hadn’t done anything mean. “Are you reconsidering?”
“No.” He reached for my arm, then glanced at the store and drew back. “No, I haven’t. I just thought I could step back if you wanted to focus on your…whatever’s happening back there.”
“At True Tech?”
He nodded, awkwardly raising his shoulders. “Like, the situation with Ash.”
Why would I want to focus on that? It was over. “I’d rather have my distraction.” I stepped close enough to gather a whiff of Italian spices. Rosemary, maybe? Oregano? I wanted to brush my nose against his neck and imagine a wonderful spread, a warm home, and a sweet embrace.
He chuckled and ducked his head. “Am I ‘your’ distraction?”
“My favorite kind.” Was that too cheesy? Well, he liked cheese. So maybe he’d like my bad moves. I tugged the hem of his plain shirt. “Will you come over tonight?”
“Yes,” he said, his cheeks dimpling with that sweet, nervous smile.
A stretch would be good for us.