The Prairie Spy

Alan “Lindy” Linda

We, the USA, are rapidly turning into a service economy.  We’re all selling insurance, cooking hamburgers, and trying to keep the products running that we import from overseas. There’ll still be lawyers, because sometimes we don’t do those things well.

There’ll still be teachers, because someone has to teach lawyers. There’ll still be government, because someone has to tote the mail and guard the shores and invade small countries. But there won’t be much in the way of industry, because there won’t be much demand for our manufactured goods.

Service economies don’t manufacture very much, because their labor costs are too high, or the dollar value is too low, or some other capitalist-forsaken economy-speak.

If it’s true that we’re turning into a service-oriented country, then we stink at it.

A recent visit to my favorite Subway sandwich shop produced one bit of information upon which I base my conclusion. Admittedly, I have the highest regard for someone who can ask a customer hundreds of times in a row: “Which bread would you like?” and then stand there watching hundreds of people mull over the five or six possibilities as if the fate of the planet depended upon their choice. 

So there I was, prompt with my choice of bread. “What kind of cheese would you like?” I was next asked.

“I noticed you have hard-boiled egg bits there; how about if I trade you the cheese for the egg?” I don’t like cheese. It gums up in my mouth, sticks to my teeth, and covers up the bite of the jalapeño peppers. I haven’t had them put cheese on my sandwiches in forever.

She said: “I’m sorry. The egg will be extra.” Oh. That raised a question.

I said: “So, does that mean you’ll take some money off the sandwich if I don’t have the cheese?” That seemed logical.

She said: “No, the cheese is standard; the egg is extra.” 

And that was that. I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t want to put out an attitude-laden argument that, in our service oriented economy, standard costs something, usually, and cheese to the best of my knowledge isn’t free. I still like Subway. I’ll still go there. But maybe I’ll go try a new sandwich shop in town. I wasn’t going to, but I don’t find an egg-for-cheese trade out of the question for a customer that shows up at a place fifty times a year.

Several months ago, I finally weakened and called a satellite TV company to inquire about a dish. I’m having a big year. First a new cell phone; now, satellite TV. Life is just a blur. “How would you like to pay for this?” I was asked.

“Can we do an automatic checking account deduction?” Sure, came the answer. No problem. Just send us a voided check.

One month later, I was notified that my TV service was about to be disconnected, due to a problem with the check service number or something. 

“Hello,” I said to someone on the other end of the phone, who evidently was in India, or Pakistan, or somewhere else with a language that I cannot understand. I understood enough to figure out that they straightened it out.

Then I got another notice. And another one, this one a bit rude. “Listen,” I finally told them, “just go ahead and put it on my credit card.” And they did. And that worked fine.

I thought that the amount that I was billed was excessive that first month because they were playing catch-up with the foiled automatic checking procedure. Then I got the same amount the second month.

“Hello,” I said to someone at the TV place, “how come I’m being charged for all this extra stuff? I was told I got this free for three months.” Truth be told, I’dve gotten the darned thing anyway, but the free HBO and stuff was a nice touch in a service oriented economy. After all, there were other places that offered similar deals.

“Who told you that?” the voice asked me. Yeah. Like I remember some name that had more vowels in it then our alphabet contains.

“I don’t know who it was.” 

“Well, I’m sorry, but that deal had expired.”

Oh.

Another month went by, and the same exorbitant amount showed up on my credit card statement. It doesn’t take three months to get something straightened out, so I called back again.

“What’s this $89.71 charge on my bill?” And I still can’t get network stations. That’d probably be hundreds more. Good grief. The more I thought about it, the bigger the amount got. Take that times 12 months a year, add a couple of years. I could go to the movies every night the rest of my life.

“That’s your charge for all the extras.”

I said, “What! Cancel everything, all the way back to the original $24.95 package!” 

“There’ll be a charge for canceling, sir.”

I’m not surprised.