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,” Isaid.
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.
