When I finally get a customer service rep.

If you know me, this story is not going to seem surprising; if you don’t, stuff like this happens to me often. Occurrences people think would make for a great short story; a brief encounter with a stranger, a conversation being had in sheer loneliness, an end as seemingly short as the experience.

I received an invoice in the mail for my subscription to the Wall Street Journal. I was quite confused seeing as though I had already paid it online. I multitask, as I usually do very poorly, and make my insta-Mac & Cheese in the handy microwave – that machine will kill me long before the cigarettes kick in.

I can hear the random facts and muzak via speaker phone as I set my cell down on the nearby counter; listening intently every time the condescending voice chimes in that I am a valued customer and shall be dealt with as promptly as possible.

My macaroni is ready; I stir in the powdered cheese and breathe in the toxic aroma of the insta-food.

As I leaf through the tabloid magazine on my table, I feel guilty for doing so. However, feel a sense of self-validation in the fact that it was not delivered for me, I am just being nosy for the sake of voyeurism and boredom.

Finally, a man answers my call, muttering something I cannot understand; I was too caught off guard having just taken a bite of piping hot food.

I reply “I am so sorry; I have no idea what you just said.” That was not the response he was expecting, nor was his one I was, his being “blah blah blah, what can I do for you?”

Needless to say I was surprised at his candor, however, more amused than anything else. He repeated his original phrase: “Hi my name is (insert name here) from the Wall Street Journal, what state do you have your newspaper delivered to?”

Now that he was speaking in English, I began to formulate a reply, which seemed to be difficult under the circumstances. I told him “California,” he then says “Oh, that’s why you couldn’t understand a word I said. We New Yorkers hate California.”

“Hey don’t start bag on California,” I say with an unrecognizable defensiveness in my tone and intent. I follow that with “California is great, I think New York is rad, I’ve always wanted to go! What’s so wrong with California?!”

“Nothing,” he says, “I lived there for three years, and I really liked it.”

I’m even more confused than when I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

I explain my payment dilemma to him; he assures me I’m in the clear, paid for etc. We then start talking about random U.S. cities, what’s nice about them, where he’s lived, what he liked/disliked.

He got a degree in engineering, decided he didn’t like it; got a degree in Mathematics, ended up teaching and is now finishing up his second novel. It’s a Sci-Fi/fantasy novel, supposedly in order to understand it; one must have a good deal of knowledge in physics and calculus.

He yammered on endlessly about scientific wonders, none of which I was familiar with (I don’t think many people are, in my defense). He was surprised I didn’t know some scientific phenomena, seeing as though it has been featured on Star Trek…at which point I had to inform him that I was not an avid viewer (it’s cool and all, just not my thing).

Much of the conversation was a blur; of course except for the part where he gave me directions about how to mock a huge volcanic eruption: supposedly…(put 4 white Mentos in a 2-litre Diet
Coke bottle and run; if you try it before I do, let me know if it works).

Poor man then said “I’m sorry; I’m just a very lonely man.” I, on the other hand, was intrigued to have such off-the-wall dinner company in New York via telephone.

Mid-sentence he changed his tone: “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” So I am assuming that the boss walked in, ready to have his job.

So if you will all do me the pleasure: the next time you have a drink, cheers to the lonely Wall Street Journal man…may he experience great success in his novel and soon escape the tortures of his current position.

Cheers Lonely Wall Street Journal Man!