The Washable Dream (Fiction)

In Kirsten Smith's short story, the inter-office dynamics of the near future are anything but clean.

By Kirsten Smith,

“Kindness. Compassion. Humanity.”

Cherry had written Rand’s words in green permanent marker on a hot pink sticky note during her Support Agent orientation with Washable, what — thirteen, almost fourteen years ago? The paper had become stiff, curled vaguely at the bottom corners, and was yellowing in spots, as if stained by tea rather than faded by the scant sunlight pushing through Cherry’s grimey living room windows. Its adhesive had long ago lost its stick, and was now duct taped to the desk’s chipped particle board shelf. Cherry gazed at the scrawled words and absently pulled her headset away from her ears to relieve the pressure built up after nine and a half hours of selling the Washable dream, while waiting for the next call to come up on her laptop’s bright blue screen.

Enough time to dash to the bathroom? Probably not. She didn’t think she’d last much longer though. Cherry jiggled both knees and ate the last two peanut M&M from the bag on her desk to pacify the earthquake in her stomach.

Rand popped up in a chat box with an update to the team’s Customer Retention & Upgraded Plan (or CRUP) rankings:

Rand [Lead]:
6PM CRUP

Cherry $3,047

Herk $2,612

Liza $979

Cherry’s eyes narrowed. Who the fuck is Herk? She messaged Rand.

Cherry [Agent]: Rand. Who the F is Herk?

Rand [Lead]: Newbie. Off to good start. Bring A-game.

Yeah no shit. She’d never seen a newbie take such a leap onto the board. Bet Liza’s pissed.

A call came in. Cherry glanced at the sticky note for the bazillionth time and thrust her mouth into a smile. “Hello, hope you’re having a wonderful Washable day! My name is Cherry, I’ll be happy to support your laundry needs — can I please have your name and account ID?”

The ridiculous intro script hadn’t changed the entire time she’d been with the company, and it flowed from her lips like rainwater through a gutter, devoid of exception or flavor. But it was the unscripted words that followed, tailored to each individual customer, that kept her in the number one spot day after day, year after year.

She could pick up the weariness in the voice of a middle-aged woman. That woman likely had a full-time job, kids, and a bum of a husband — or ex-husband, perhaps as of late. For her, the mere thought of dealing with loads of filthy laundry on top of everything else going on, could very well pitch her head first (well-coiffed) into a breakdown. Cherry knew the precise note of empathy this woman would require in order to upgrade to the Washable Annual Plan, or even the holy grail, the 3-Year Plan, paid in full upfront. If the woman balked even for a half second, Cherry knew to throw in monthly dry cleaning at a hefty discount to lock it down.

Then there was the young bachelor type. Often an entry-level tech bro. Recently moved into his first pad after living with his parents his whole life, newly experiencing the complications that can arise from mishandling bleach at the local laundromat. For this one, Cherry would step into her ‘mother-girlfriend’ persona. Soothing and caring, with just enough flirty energy to make him pliable, and amenable to the maximum upgrade. No discount necessary for those dipshits.

Anyone. She could do this with anyone. Read their voices within three seconds and verbally shape shift into who they needed her to be.

To be sure, there were rare moments of relief from the relentless playacting. Wartime ceasefires, when she could slip back to herself. Among Support’s regular callers were a handful of sweet human beings, like spirited Gwen, who was paraplegic, and hilarious retired Aram. They’d call in more or less weekly to ask whatever Washable — or loosely related — question floated to the top of their minds. Often the conversations wound their way toward the weather, gardens, grandkids, where to get good burgers. Cherry suspected she heard from them mainly on lonely days.

Those callers did zip for her CRUP, they never bought a thing. But they were a bulwark against her heart going inky and crystallized in the face of the majority.

Most callers were pissed-off, entitled tools who whined to Cherry about, Ohhh, one of my socks is missing! Or, Wahhh, your laundry bot left my bag in the rain! She could turn each of these callers into her personal little bitch with all the aim and speed of a viper strike. Armed with the fail-safe Washable principles of kindness, compassion, and humanity — they’d be apologizing and thanking her profusely, credit card in hand, by the end of the call.

And BOOM. The CRUP weekly bonus was as good as in the bank.

Being the top-selling agent for the past six years had helped Cherry purchase her damp, leaky bottom-level condo with windows barely peeking above the city sidewalk. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. For now, at least. From the corner of her eye, Cherry inadvertently glimpsed the torn envelope and neatly folded demand letter stamped with “payment required” in red. It had been sitting on the coffee table, half wedged beneath a couple of overdue library books, for some time.

Cherry pressed her thighs together tight, shimmied in her desk chair, took deep breaths, and waited for the next call.

ᐧ  ᐧ  ᐧ

The day Herk finally knocked Cherry out of the top CRUP spot was a dreary Friday. It was the same day Liza got the boot. The realization was a flying one-two punch to the noggin. Rand’s ratings update came up in one one chat box, and Liza’s appeared next to it.

Rand [Lead]:
7PM CRUP

Herk $5,107

Cherry $3,894

WashBot $992

Liza [Agent]: Cher, I’m out. Rand just told me. Chatbot is bad news. Heart you, girl, hope we can stay friends on the outside.

Liza’s chat glitched oddly and blinked out. Cherry sat back, jaw slack. Her eyes flicked between the space where Liza’s message had been, and Rand’s, feeling as though her safe cocoon had evaporated and she was now dangling amid a flash of nothingness.

A new chat popped up.

Herk [Agent]: Hi Cherry, I’m Herk. Nice to meet you. I just want to tell you that I admire your expertise. Competing with you has been a worthy challenge. Good game.

Cherry [Agent]: Hi Herk. Now is not the time. Kindly fuck off.

Herk [Agent]: Cherry, I understand you may be upset to miss out on the CRUP bonus, but please do not speak to me that way.

Cherry [Agent]: I said now is NOT the time, Herk. Ciao.

Cherry killed the chat and furiously typed a message to Rand.

Cherry [Agent]: Rand, Liza is out?? WTF?

Rand [Lead]: Cherry, don’t worry about others. Go enjoy your weekend. Next week, let’s just focus on getting those numbers up.

Her breath caught. He hadn’t used those words with her in at least a decade.

Rand [Lead]: Also, quick heads up, we’re refreshing the intro script starting Monday. Check email first thing.

ᐧ  ᐧ  ᐧ

Herk. The jerk.