I work at a classy spa. We have the best Yelp! reviews in our area. Scratch that. We just have amazing Yelp! reviews. Rarely do we get less than five stars. People like us.
But let’s be honest. We make our most money by ripping hair out of people’s intimate parts. Phone conversations have the potential to be outstanding uncomfortable. I’ve hated talking on the phone my whole life, but never did I anticipate having to (or more accurately being ABLE to) have a conversation with a guy about an adverse reaction happening on and around his junk after a male Brazilian. I have to real talk at my job. But the call I had the other day was probably my favorite call yet. I feel a little like I’ve made it.My life is more complete. I’ve successfully gained a story that you can only read on the internet, and now I’d like to share it with you.
I didn’t answer the phone first. I happened to be walking into the suite where my office is located. I have to walk by the concierge desk and a couple of treatment room first. The girl at the desk had answered the phone. I could tell she was having trouble with the person on the other end by her face alone. Although, when she said, “Can you repeat that?” I knew to stop and wait for her inevitable plead for help. She put the guest on hold and looked at me at a loss.
“I can’t understand anything he’s saying, or what he wants.”
Ugh. Christmas crackers. I keep accepting promotions so that I don’t have to answer the phone. At least, that’ what I tell myself. I might not have to answer as many, but the one’s I do take are the difficult ones.
“Tell him that you’re having trouble understanding him and that you’re going to give the phone to your manager,” I advised and then watched her follow my directions, happily. I took the phone from her, not even able to anticipate the conversation I was about to have. “Hi, how may I assist you today?”
“I was talking to this girl and she wasn’t able to understand me.” I could tell why. He had a STRONG southern accent that made his words sound more or less like,. “Ah wuz tah-kin tuh this girl an’ sheh wuzn’t…” you get the picture. Luckily, for the both of us, I have southern relatives and could decipher most of what he was saying. “I’m looking for a cream for my wife.” I swear it sounded like he waff. At first my brain translated it as wax, which made sense. We offer a lot of post wax care items that are necessary for upkeep.
Then my brain went, Hold up. He’s saying wife. He’s trying to buy a cream from his wife. That’s cute. I’m all about guys buying spa things for their wives.
“What sort of cream is she looking for?”
“She doesn’t know. She’s too embarrassed to do this herself, you see.” Cue moderate alarm bells. But then again, I’ve had men call in for their wives to schedule Brazilians because the wives were too embarrassed to schedule it themselves. I ignored the bells for the moment. “She just needs the cream.”
“Does she know the name of it? What’s it for?” Mistake.
“Well, you see.” I don’t want to see. “She has this bump on her rear end and it’s real painful. It’s uncomfortable to sit, you see. She needs something that’s going to take care of it.”
I’m not a doctor, but at best that sounded like an ingrown hair. At worst, she has an STD that needs medical treatment. But you can’t tell the to guests, “Hey, you have the herp. Sorry, champ.” Guests don’t like that.
So, I tried to be diplomatic, “Would you mind me putting you on hold so I can ask an esthetician if we carry anything that would help that particular need?”
“Whatever needs to be done.”
I put him on hold and go to my boss, who is a licensed esthetician. I relay to her his wife’s problem. I also relay to my boss that I think his wife needs to see a doctor right quick. My boss found my moderately humorous, but mostly gave me a product to offer the guy.
“Sir? The esthetician I talked with said that our product Relax and Wax No Scream Cream might help. It will only numb the area though. It won’t heal or cure the area. You’d have to see a medical professional to identify what it is and how to treat it.” I couldn’t not mention medical help. This poor women needed it.
“Can I put it on me?” Now the alarm bells rang louder. I tried to replay the conversation in my head. I was 100% certain we’d been talking about his wife. Regardless, I hesitated a bit before answering.
“Um, yes? You can put this on any area of your skin, male or female. Just don’t ingest it.”
“But I can put it on?” Nothing was really making sense at this point. I think my biggest fear was that he was trying to make sure if he used it to toss off that he wouldn’t cause himself damage. That wasn’t a conversation that I wanted to have. So, in my innocence, I hoped real hard that he was worried about applying it to his wife and getting it on his hands.
“You can put it on. It’s perfectly safe if it gets on your hands if you’re applying it onto your wife.”
“I have the same thing. I have the red bumps all over my johnson.”
Oh, merciful Jesus, is it too late to hang up? “I’m not going around complaining because I’m a man. It’s uncomfortable for her to have on her rear end. She can’t sit, so she needs something. I ain’t complaining because i’m a man. I just deal with it like a man. I don’t want to use it though if my johnson is going to get all burned up.”
The deadness that settled in my soul so that I wouldn’t laugh was astounding. “It should be safe. If you develop a burning sensation, wash off and see a doctor.”
“Okay, how much is this going to cost me?”
“It’s about $20, so with taxes that’s going to be around $22 in total.”
“Okay, how about we say it’s $16.50?”
You. Are. Fucking. Kidding. Me. Right? I had to look at the phone. Have you ever gotten that eerie feeling that you’re being pranked? That this is all one big horrible joke that you have to suffer through because someone has a freakish sense of humor? Maybe I’m a terrible customer service person, but I wasn’t about to discount this cream because he got an STD.
“Well. Currently we aren’t running any promotion on those products, so it’s going to cost you about $22.”
“Where are you from?” Alarm bells achieved maximum level.
“Michigan…” I wondered if he grasped that he was calling a spa in Michigan.
“Well, I don’t know how it is up there in Michigan, but down here in Louisiana, we help people when they are in need.” I’m am the wrong person to turn to when trying to make your STD a charity case. Go the the doctor. Get a prescription. Please, God in heaven, leave me out of that part of your life.
“I’m really sorry, sir. We price our products as low as we can. We don’t aim to overprice anything.”
“Goddamn Obama.” No… what? Is this really about to happen? “This never would have happened if Obama was never elected into office. I can’t believe this sort of thing. Goddamn obamacare ruining people’s lives. You know what? You know what I’m going tell you? You can take that cream and you can shove it up your ass. Thank you. Have a nice day.”
“You have a nice day, too, sir.”
Click. I returned the phone to its cradle, and continued walking to my office.
I bet he wished he had an old phone with a receiver he could slam down. I didn’t know actual people like him existed. How do you get so enraged that a company won’t arbitrarily discount your ass cream that you start blaming obamacare? That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.
I was shocked at first. I mean, it’s the first time anyone’s told me to go shove something up my ass, but then I got the giggles. I giggled to myself. And of course, I had to tell someone, so I took my coworker Chelsea to the cry room, and we laughed hard enough to cry.
I’m still a little in awe, but bless this man for being one of the highlights of my week, making my day, and giving me an experience that really and truly makes me feel like an American customer service representative.