Humor Fiction posted February 23, 2025

Exceptional

This work has reached the exceptional level

A short story

Customer Disservice

by Jessica Wheeler

Story of the Month Contest Winner

The hold music was a psychological weapon.

Initially, it was a light, whimsical tune—like something you’d hear in an antidepressant commercial right before they reveal a list of horrifying side effects, such as life-threatening diarrhea or aggressive nipple sensitivity.

But after thirteen and a half minutes, it had transformed into an auditory torture device—the same five notes, repeated endlessly, like someone slowly losing their mind on a xylophone.

Still, I waited.

I glared at the object of my suffering: a brand-new, stainless steel, double-walled, vacuum-sealed travel mug. Fresh out of the box. Pristine. Untouched by liquid.

Its manufacturer had promised it was “designed for ultimate convenience!”—which was ironic, considering I had now spent forty-eight hours trying to remove the lid.

I tried everything—twisting, pulling, swearing in multiple languages. At one point, I even resorted to gentle encouragement.

“Come on, buddy, we can do this. Together, on three.”

When that didn’t work, I attempted reasoning.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me yet. But I swear I’m not a threat.”

Nothing.

The stainless steel trap remained unmoved, forcing me to call and complain to an actual human—or rather, wait to complain to an actual human.

Finally, a voice.

“Thank you for holding! My name is Christie! How can I make your day brighter?”

Christie sounded like the human embodiment of an exclamation point.

“Yes, hi, Christie,” I said, summoning every ounce of patience in my soul. “I’m calling because I bought one of your travel mugs, and the lid won’t come off.”

A gasp. “Oh no! That is just crazy!”

Crazy—like I had just told her my mug had been stolen by a traveling squirrel, or admitted to its silent treatment.

“Yes,” I said. “It is, in fact, crazy.”

“Well, let’s get to the bottom of this mystery!” Christie chirped, like a kindergarten teacher who just discovered espresso. “I have some troubleshooting options for you!”

I clung to hope. “Okay, great.”

“Okay!” she continued. “First, can you try firmly twisting the lid?”

I closed my eyes.

“Christie.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I called you before trying to twist the lid?”

A giggle. “You’d be surprised!”

I exhaled slowly.

“Okay, next, can you confirm you’re twisting lefty loosey—NOT righty tighty?”

Oh. My. God.

“Yes, Christie. I have twisted counterclockwise.”

“Okay, great! Hm, let’s check something else!”

Her enthusiasm made me miss the xylophone.

“Is it possible,” she continued, “that there’s something sticky on the lid? Like maybe dried-up smoothie residue?”

My jaw tightened.

“Christie.”

“Yes?”

“The mug is brand new. Straight out of the packaging.”

Another giggle. “Oh my gosh! Then what could be making it stick?”

I blinked.

Christie sounded like the kind of person who claps when the plane lands.

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the counter. “Look, can you just check if this is a known issue?”

“Oh my gosh! What a great idea! Let me pop you on a super quick hold while I check!”

Before I could object, the hold music returned. This time, I swore I heard whispering beneath the melody—like a ghost trapped in the phone, laughing at me.

Three minutes later, Christie was back.

“Okay! So, I just talked to my supervisor, and it turns out that some of our mugs have a teensy-weensy issue where the vacuum seal… um… never unseals.”

I blinked. “Never?”

“Yeah, so, like, technically, that lid is on there forever!”

I took a moment to absorb the fact that I had just purchased a stainless steel coffin for imaginary coffee.

Christie, meanwhile, was unfazed. “But not to worry! We can send you a replacement!”

Progress. “Great. When will it arrive?”

“Standard shipping is six to eight weeks!”

Something inside me snapped.

“Christie.”

“Yes?”

“This is a travel mug. The entire purpose of a travel mug is to transport liquid while I travel. Which I will be doing next week.”

“Oh, bummer! So totally inconvenient for it to not open, right?”

I inhaled sharply. “Totally.”

“Good news, though! If you want your replacement sooner, you can upgrade to express shipping for just $24.99!”

I let out a slow, eerie laugh. The kind of laugh that should have been accompanied by haunting piano music. Or a xylophone.

“Let me just… get this straight,” I said. “Your company knowingly sold me a travel mug with a lid that can never be removed, and now you’d like me to pay for the privilege of replacing it?”

Another cheerful giggle. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds kind of silly!”

Oh, Christie.

“Yes. Totally silly,” I muttered, unable to stop picturing her as someone who aggressively scrapbooks.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Christie?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a manager?”

A pause. “I mean, usually.”

I took a deep breath. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Well, okay, yes, but she’s taking a break right now, and between you and me, she, like, rarely ever comes back from a break. Like… never, actually, so—”

I hung up.

Not the polite, civilized kind of hang-up. No, no. This was forceful. The sort of tap meant to send a message that wasn’t a text, if you know what I mean.

Suddenly, I understood why some people still have landlines.

With my aggravation at an all-time high, I grabbed my pointless purchase and walked to the balcony—ready to accept my fate like a mature adult.

Then, I threw it.

It sailed through the air and hit the pavement with a thunk.

Nothing. The smug mug remained perfectly intact. Not even a dent.

But then—because the universe is a cruel, cruel place, or possibly a wannabe comedian—

Off popped the lid.

Write A Review