“If you don't have my order, I expect it to be ready within the hour.” I put my phone on the counter displaying the invoice. “If not, my order is free. All my orders are free. Forever.”
Yeah, that's some kind of guarantee. It was another reason why I had selected this company. They had promised to deliver my one thousand monogrammed film tins within two weeks, or all of my future purchases would be free forever. For a party planner, getting free party favors forever is like hitting the lottery.
Snap, snap. “I'll go get my manager.”
Queens of the Stone Age’s “Make It Wit Chu” came on over the store’s speakers. Unbidden, Vic's face popped into my mind’s eye. The vision was like an unwanted fly; I tried to swat it away, but it kept returning. The longer the song went on, the more the words drilled into my brain, the more I couldn't stop seeing him. I gave up shooing Vic away, and let the song's seductive melody fill me like a drug.
“Ms. Moore?” A woman's cool voice broke through the spell.
I blinked, clearing my eyes, to see a woman not much older than me. She looked normal enough.
“Yes,” I responded. “Are you the manager?”
“I am.” She said curtly.
“Did your associate fill you in?” I asked, gesturing to the gum smacker.
“Yes.” The woman said, even more curtly.
Huh. I don't understand the people who get, let alone succeed, in a customer-oriented business, yet seem to possess no people skills. It weirds me out, and it makes me feel like it's just me they don't like. As if they’re super friendly to every other person who comes in, but then I walk in and they're like “Oh, now look at this bitch.”
“Well, Ms. . . .?” I said, trying
to lead her to tell me her name. At least some of us knew how to talk to people around here.
“Ms. Friendly.”
I stared. I couldn’t help it. Was she fucking with me?
“My name is Amelia Friendly,” she said.
I nodded, too dumbstruck by the irony. “Okay. Ms. Friendly, you are aware my order hasn't been processed. Your guarantee says—”
Ms. Friendly interrupted me. “We'll have it by tomorrow. The guarantee says that if it's not ready within twenty-four hours of the delivery date, then all future purchases are free. Not within the hour.” She bit off the last word.
I had half a mind to bitch at her for the company's terrible customer service, misrepresentation, and headache-inducing machinations. But I didn’t, because the reality was I only had a week until the party, and they were my only hope. It didn't matter that they would give me free party favors or not. If I didn't make this party a success, I wouldn't have any more parties to use their free party favors for.
I swallowed my anger, and felt instant indigestion. “Alright. That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
Ms. Friendly only nodded at me.
I stepped out into the warm Santa Barbara air. The sun was shining bright, and I felt almost hopeful. With the favors taken care of, the party was in place. Only a week away and I had everything ready except a date. Which, to be honest, wasn't going to happen unless vibrators had become acceptable life partners now.
On Friday, Vic brought home a skank. I'm calling all of Vic's conquests skanks because I'm petty and jealous and have no respect for my own gender, okay? Get off my back. Anyway, on Friday, Vic brought home a skank. She was tall and beautiful and had gorgeous brown hair that fell to her butt. She looked like a goddess plucked right out of the Amazon. I shot them both daggers as we all got into the same elevator.
She was giggling and flirting with him, calling him “baby” and “darling.” He had a stupid grin on his face. I about vomited on them both.
The doors opened onto my floor, and I stepped out. Over my shoulder, I called cheerily, “Vic, I'm so glad you found a partner who doesn't mind your herpes.”
I was determined not to scuttle away; I held my head high and walked slowly down the hall. When I heard the elevator ding shut, I quickened my pace until I was safely in my apartment. It wasn't the most mature thing to do, but it was classier than vomiting on them. I think.
I've had sex with someone who had herpes before. It really isn't that hard to protect yourself if you're educated about it, but most people aren't. And most one-night stands don't want to risk it.
I cackled maniacally to myself, feeling smug. That is, until Saturday.
On Saturday, I brought home a skank of my own, this one of the penis faction. I swear to God Vic was waiting for me in the lobby. He folded his newspaper, stood up, and walked with us into the elevator.
On the ride up, I braced myself for the worst—he was going to get me back for what I said the day before.