Cyclamen pink

Written by: Ena Vladika (FFOS)

Issue 2 (April 2018)

All credit goes to Ena Vladika @ena.cl

There are many tales about compassion and friendship and the beauty of human interaction. This is not one of them.

Hope you like it as much as I hate it.

Having finished my summer semester, with an unexpected amount of free time on my hands, instead of enjoying the break like a normal person would, I decided to look for a job. Soon enough, I heard that there was an opening at a shop that sold electronic cigarettes. It wasn’t so much a shop as a stand in a hallway of a shopping center. But I didn’t mind. After a week-long training I was ready to work on my own, on the weekends. The job itself was fine, not too difficult, but it did require me to memorize things I didn’t care for in the slightest while acting like I did in order to appeal to customers. I had heard many times that working with people was the worst but for a while I didn’t see it. And then I did.

I should have known. From the way she moved, as if she had walked into her own living room, I should have known. She had blonde hair tied in a ponytail and was wearing sunglasses. Figures someone like that would wear sunglasses inside. She leaned on the counter with her elbows. “Give me one of these,” she shoved a vape tank in my face. Now, if you’re not familiar with all the intricacies of the vaping industry, an e-cigarette, in simple terms, consists of a battery and a tank which contains liquid that provides the vapor and the taste. Hers was a disposable tank, one we no longer sold due to some changes in the law pertaining to the vape/tobacco industry. I politely explained this to her, offering an alternative: another tank, more expensive but reusable. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea, to say the least, and how come she couldn’t buy it now when only last week she could. The law has changed, I repeated, there’s nothing we can do. Will it work with my battery, this new tank, she wanted to know. It should but I don’t know what kind of battery you have. What kind of battery do you have?

“I don’t know. I bought it here two years ago, will it work? Don’t lie to me just to sell me a more expensive tank. You’ll pay me back if it doesn’t work.” Eyes glared at me incessantly through the glasses.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but you will have to tell me the model of the battery. At least, is it a 1000mAh or 650mAh one?”

“How should I know that,” she persisted, “I bought it here, you should know, didn’t they teach you anything?”Apparently part of the job was to memorize customer spending habits.

“Okay, is it big or small?”

“I don’t know.”

I’m a patient person. I tried a visual approach. “Does it look like any of these?” I pointed at batteries visible through the glass countertop. Please behold: Homo sapiens, the most intelligent life form on Earth.

“I don’t think so. These are black, mine’s cyclamen pink.”

I felt an incredulous smile forming at the corners of my lips and I quickly composed myself because one thing worse than an angry customer is an angry customer who feels laughed at.

After calling the senior staff member we came to the conclusion that yes, she did have the same battery (despite the shocking difference in colors) and that it should work. She purchased it with a warning that she would be back if it didn’t and that I would personally be responsible. She walked away and I watched her on her way out hoping with my whole being that it would work.

Of course it didn’t.

A couple of minutes later she marched in with the determination of someone who has been wronged and has devoted their whole existence to getting revenge.

“It doesn’t work. I knew it. Give me my money back!”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happens to be the issue?”

“It just doesn’t work. Try it yourself!” she threw the device on the counter. I tried it. It didn’t work. There was a procedure in cases like that, things I had to do to make sure that the unit was truly faulty. It was a little difficult following it while she was yelling at me. She demanded a refund because I personally tried to trick her out of her money. I sighed. Doesn’t she know I don’t get that money? Doesn’t she know I would gladly give her the money, my personal belongings, the stall, the entire mall, never to see her face again?

In between her rambling and my sweaty palms I managed to attach the problematic tank to one of our test batteries. It worked. For a second I thought that it was a good thing, but really it only complicated everything. Now I had to tell her that I couldn’t give her a refund. Her ongoing soliloquy, which had until then been rather tame, suddenly turned into a personal assault. I lied to her, I stole her money, and now I’m lying again to cover up my mistakes. I stood there trying to get a word in edgeways, trying to have a civil conversation, but that proved to be as effective as putting out a fire by asking nicely. I remembered the words ‘cyclamen pink’. Mind you, before that moment I had no idea what cyclamen pink shade was or what it looked like. But now I can’t forget it. It’s that color your skins turns in a place where you know a huge pimple is going to erupt. Not much you can do about it, but stand there and watch as it spews insults at you.

“So young and already lying like that! Unbelievable!” She went on to tell me just how badly my parents had raised me. She called me ‘a young creature’. I felt like Bambi. My parents didn’t raise me well. Well, my mom was kind of incapacitated there for a second. The yarn of insults just kept unraveling.When I was younger I would get agitated and it would show on my face. But by that point, after all the social charms of elementary, middle and high school, I had learned not to care. I was exhausted though. Both physically and emotionally. My introverted nature, generally not keen on this kind of superficial (not to mention aggressive) interaction, was imploring for a blanket I could crawl under. Finally, I overheated and had then entered the state of absolute resignation.

While fidgeting with the cigarette in her wrath she spilled some liquid over the counter. Moments later she was telling me that I was incompetent and was going to spill it everywhere. I almost started laughing. There was no way that could be real. There was no excuse for it, unless there was a hidden camera somewhere in there and someone was dying laughing. The Universe maybe.

I remember calling the senior employee and the boss to consult them. A phone in each hand and the Cyclamen pink lady in front of me. The Bermuda Triangle. I understand now. It does make you want to disappear.

After apparently exhausting the well of insults she turned to the way the company conducted its business. A name tag. I should be wearing one. A uniform. I should be wearing one. Again, somehow these were all my own personal oversights. She supported this by citing some laws.

I started considering spontaneous human combustion.

I vaguely remember her saying something about hitting me if I were her daughter. Good luck to her actual daughter.

I didn’t do drugs but right then I wished that I had.

She wrote in our complaints book. Nobody ever wrote in our complaints book. She really went for it. Pages upon pages. A young, lying creature. And her name was Ena Vladika. Yep, that’s me alright.

I ended up giving her the refund. The unit was not faulty, the issue was most likely the worn out contact between her battery and the new tank which was not surprising considering her battery was two years old while the expected lifespan is 6 months to a year,but since it worked with her old tank, it was impossible to prove. Technically, I should not have given her the money, but when there’s a screaming disaster in your face, you don’t really think straight. You just think how to get rid of it. If a couple of bills would make it happen, so be it. I was glad my boss thought the same. And they say money can’t buy happiness.

She was there for two hours. That’s two (2) straight hours for those in the back. I had people coming to me asking if I was okay after she had left. Apparently it looked like I had suffered an extensive emotional trauma. Which I had.

I believe she felt like she had done something important. I imagine her writing in her diary (I imagine she really likes writing): “Today was a good day. I fought for my rights as a consumer against a big, evil corporation represented by their just as evil minion, an undergrad student working part time. Note to self: next time quote more laws for additional credibility.”

I guess being loud enough equals to being right.