Tom scowled. “That makes no sense. Does your world not have Saturday Night Live, stand-up comedy, skit shows, South Park, Jon Stewart, Tina Fey, Seth Rogan, John Oliver, That’s My Bush, Judd Apatow movies, the rest of Comedy Central’s programming, Patton Oswalt, Bill Maher, Lewis Black, Stephen Colbert, Janeane Garofalo, or any episodes of The Simpsons featuring Lisa?”
“Flooooooo,” Wendell explained.
“You are telling me that on Larry the Author’s home planet it is only acceptable to make fun of some beliefs, yet the predominant belief system held within their entertainment industry is sacrosanct?” Tom thought the manatee had to be pulling his leg. “Good one, Wendell. No. It has to be dolphins. Moving on to our next complaint.”
Larry the Author read from the next card. “‘It was vulgar.’”
“All things considered, I found R. Lee Ermey to be remarkably restrained,” Tom stated.
“Fleeeeeeerrp,” Wendell agreed. He was a huge Full Metal Jacket fan and could practically recite the opening boot camp scene from memory. The manatee showed them his War Face. “Hoooon.”
“A fantastic impersonation, Wendell. Regardless, I will pass this concern onto Secretary of Defense Ermey. Next card.”
“Some of the humor was dated, and made jokes relating to pop culture as far back in ancient history as the 1980s.”
“Hope that dude never watches Family Guy,” Jimmy muttered.
“Silence, Jimmy. The customer is always right, even when they are being absurd. Also, he will want to skip the Guardians of the Galaxy movies. Next card, Mr. Correia.”
“‘There was too much profanity.’ Now this one is interesting, Tom, and I’ve got the numbers here. We used no F-bombs. Twice we used the word BEEP.” Larry paused, confused. “Is the panel being bleeped if we use bad words now?”
“Yes. I thought it best not to cause further customer anguish. Do not worry. I will shut it off after the conclusion of this press conference.”
“Hang on. I gotta test this,” Jimmy interjected. “BEEP BEEP motherBEEP BEEP sheep dip! Man, that was awesome!”
Larry the Author looked at his cards. “That’s going to make reading these complaints a challenge. Okay, we used BEEP six times, uh . . . That’s the naughty word for a butt.”
“What kind of lameBEEP BEEP is that?” Jimmy asked.
“We used crap eleven times . . . Wait, no beep? Okay, apparently crap is cool. H E double hockey sticks, a whopping seventeen times, but in our defense that was an actual geographic location in the story. There you go, Tom.”
“You must explain this one, Mr. Correia. Your sad customer service failings are not upon my head this time.”
“Well, as a writer, language is art, and words are your tools. You choose the best tool based upon the impact you are trying to achieve. Sometimes bad words are funny.” There was a scattering of half-hearted applause from a few members of the audience.
“MeewhooBEEPoooBEEPeeeerBEEPBEEPfloooBEEP”
The audience laughed uproariously at Wendell’s profanity-laced, George Carlin-like rant. The manatee was killing it.
“There you have it. I don’t think anyone can argue with such keen observational humor. Next one-star complaint.”
“Well, Tom, there’s accusations that you are some sort of idealized libertarian superman.”
“Preposterous. As an insurance agent, I am above petty partisan politics and only care about providing quality customer service. You must be mistaken. That customer was probably referring to President Adam Baldwin.”
“Yeah, that guy is pretty awesome,” Jimmy agreed.
“Fleeeeeerp,” Wendell added, because he mostly knew Adam Baldwin as Animal Mother. “Mooo.”
“You heard the manatee, Mr. Correia. Next card.”
The author had a perplexed look on his face as he read from the stack. “It is apparent that Larry Correia hates people like me. I’m triggered.”
“Sheesh, friggin’ dolphins,” Jimmy said. “Let it go, already! You guys need to chillax.”
“Okay, this one is a direct quote: The story lacks in every dimension.”
“Hmmm . . .” Tom was puzzled. “Do you think they meant that literally, or was it an attempt at humor regarding the existence of multiple dimensions? Regardless, the customer is always right. Bad writer. Bad.”
“Sorry, Tom. Up next, we have a few about what awful ego-stroking it is for an author to insert himself into a story. That’s kind of a funny one since I didn’t exactly cover myself in glory back there. I spent most of my time getting my BEEP kicked.”
“It does not matter. The customer has spoken. An author putting himself into the narrative is never okay. In the future you should strive to be more professional, like Stephen King or Clive Cussler. Is that all of the negative comments?”
“It appears so, Tom.”
“Well, there you have it, news media and gentlecustomers. Thank you for attending this Customer Service Response Panel. Are there any questions? Yes . . . there in the back.”
“This question is for Larry the Author. Despite your virulent anti-dolphin hatemongery, do you intend to write about any more of the adventures of Tom Stranger?”
“Okay, first off, I don’t even know any dolphins.”
“That just makes it worse, sir.”
“Second, sure. I’d be up to writing another story about Tom and company.”
Because of Larry’s ham-fisted, clumsy, pulpy writing style, it meant Tom probably had more of these awkward press conferences to look forward to in the future. “Next question, please.”
“This question is for Mr. Manatee. Would you care to comment about your megacorporation’s controversial move to perform a hostile takeover of many of the most evil companies in the Multiverse, thus creating one super giant megacorp legion of doom ensuring galactic domination?”
There were murmurs from the audience. Tom had not even been aware of these events, and he read the Drudge Report.
“Floorp.” And when Wendell the Manatee put his flipper down and said no further questions, he meant it. His handlers immediately came out and wheeled his tank off stage.
“Well, I am afraid that is all the time we have today. We apologize for this utter failure of customer service, and I will personally endeavor to make up that half a star in the future. Thank you for coming.”
CHAPTER TWO
Stranger & Stanger’s Quarterly Employee Evaluations
Home Office World
After the press conference Tom had returned to the office, looking forward to another productive workday. There was a Multiverse in constant turmoil, clients in need, and quality customer service wouldn’t supply itself. Plus, it was nice to turn off that annoying profanity beeper.
The Stranger & Stranger Home Office was a bustling, upbeat place, where the finest office staff in the Multiverse efficiently processed claims and sold policies using the most advanced technology available from a hundred worlds. Tom’s personal executive office was very plain and businesslike. There were no personal mementos or knickknacks to distract him from his duties. It was his happy place.
And today was a very important day on Home Office World.
An Interdimensional Insurance Agent was only as good as his team, so it was company policy that every quarter Tom would assess his Junior Associates to make sure that they were operating as a well-honed insurance unit should. Each member would be tested in a variety of grueling simulations, pushing their mental and physical limits to the ragged edge, and then Tom would personally grade their performances.
Interns came from many different realities, but only a handful survived long enough to make the leap to Junior Associate. That position required genius intellect, Olympian physicality, and a courageous dedication to customer satisfaction. After years of experience, the greatest among them would step into the Insurance Crucible and overcome the Final Claim in order to be certified a full-fledged Interdimensional Insurance Agent. Those elite few would get their own franchises and the circ
le of life would continue.
Until his employees faced the Crucible, it was Tom’s solemn duty to mentor them in the Path of Customer Service. Luckily, as the evaluations came in, it turned out that most of his staff was excellent as usual. Tom only had one evaluation left to go over, and he had been putting it off for last. He did not rejoice in the failure of others, and it was with heavy hearts that Tom ever let anyone go. Alas, Tom could procrastinate no more, so he pushed a button on his desk.
“Ms. Wappler, could you bring me Jimmy the Intern’s evaluation, please?”
His secretary entered a moment later, loudly chewing her gum. Muffy “Sparkles” Wappler was part Jersey girl, part android killing machine, and all insurance professional.
“I kinda been dreading this one too, Mr. Stranger. I know you’ve taken Jimmy under your wing and all, but . . . Well, here you go. See for yourself.”
Tom looked over Jimmy’s performance records. The results were not pretty, like anal polyps-level not pretty. “This is possibly the most dismal score I have ever seen from anyone in the Interdimensional Insurance Business.”
Muffy had blown a rather magnificent pink bubble while he’d been reading. She popped it and went back to chewing. “Yeah, I thought so, too, so I checked with the Licensing Board to see if scores that low were some sort of record. Like an anti-achievement. I thought no way could Jimmy be the worst intern ever. Remember, there was that period back in the nineties where some other companies tried to save money by hiring sign language gorillas.”
“At least Jimmy is not last place then.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply Jimmy beat out the gorilla. That Amy could really hustle. For the record, Jimmy isn’t dead last. Just the lowest-scoring carbon-based life form. One year Conundrum & Company hired a See ’n Say as a customer service rep. You know the toy you pull the string and the little arrow spins and the cow goes moo? It was close, but Jimmy edged it out.”
“That is . . . something.” Tom had been doing his best to help Jimmy discover his inner insurance agent, but they had faced some serious hurdles. “We must remember that Jimmy is from a very backwards Earth. It’s the one reality so statistically improbable that their Cubs actually won their World Series.”
“Also, I think that’s one of those weirdo oddball universes where Donald Trump got elected president, Mr. Stranger. Back on my planet, that guy owns a chain of all-you-can-eat buffets slash strip clubs.”
“Before my home planet was obliterated, our Donald Trump was a professional wrestling villain. Jimmy’s home reality is truly an oddity,” Tom agreed. “By the way, who won the recent presidential election on your home world?”
“Adam Baldwin’s two magnificent terms were up, but the Libertarian Space Cowboy Revolution Party won it again, and former Labor Secretary Mike Rowe is president now.”
“It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.” That was enough workplace-appropriate small talk. “Now, back to Jimmy’s evaluation. Test scores are valuable, but real world performance is where it counts. How has he been integrating with our corporate culture?”
Muffy shrugged. “Jimmy’s the reason I had to send out that employee newsletter about why licking toads is a terrible idea. He routinely burns popcorn in the break room microwave. That new sign on the copier saying that it is not okay to photocopy your own butt? Jimmy.”
“Surely there is some way to get him up to speed.” Tom’s body had been extensively enhanced and genetically modified with every groundbreaking combat and customer service-related technology possible. Muffy’s robot arm could bench-press a truck. “Perhaps we could have him cybernetically augmented?”
“We tried implanting an infolink chip directly into his brain so he could automatically access the Galactic Data Sphere. But then I had to disconnect it a few days later because Jimmy was downloading so much that he was eating up all the company’s bandwidth.”
“Let me guess. Pornography?”
“Surprisingly, no. It was something called Ozzy Man Reviews.”
“I see.” Though providing quality customer service to their existing clients was an Interdimensional Insurance Agent’s greatest calling, it was always important to find new clients. The thought of some poor potential customer out there somewhere in the Multiverse, insufficiently insured, was a terrible one. “How does Jimmy do at developing new business?”
“To put it bluntly,” which went without saying because that was the only manner Muffy ever put anything, “Jimmy kinda sucks at selling policies, too.”
“That is most unfortunate, but let us remember that we all struggled with sales at first.” Back when he’d been an intern at Mifune & Eastwood, Tom had once been submerged in acid by an enraged Burgundian Hive Queen for forgetting to give her a free rate quote. It had been a teachable moment. Good times.
“Seriously, just in case you think I’m exaggerating, Mr. Stranger, watch this.”
She transmitted a file to Tom’s desktop holo projector. The image showed a very nervous Jimmy seated in their conference room, and resting on the table in front of him was what appeared to be an ordinary head of cabbage.
“Hmmm . . . curious. Why is Jimmy speaking to a leafy vegetable, Ms. Wappler?”
“I didn’t trust him not to scare off any real prospective paying customers, and I was cleaning out the break room fridge and found that. It had gone a little wilty. I didn’t think whoever brought it in would miss it. So I told Jimmy that it came from a universe run by sentient vegetables.”
“And Jimmy believed this ludicrous ruse?”
“Sir, Jimmy still believes all the spambots sending him friend requests on Facebook really are lonely beautiful women. He answers every email from Nigerian princes trying to move money out of the country. Jimmy didn’t even question it when I introduced him to Cabgar, Chief Ambassador of Cabbage Land.”
Muffy hit play.
“So insurance, you know? Well, Mr. Cabgar, ’round here that’s like our dealio. It’s where you pay money for stuff that hasn’t happened yet, so when it happens we fix it and you don’t get screwed. Because there’s like this thing, where there’s these different dimensions, but what’s normal on one planet isn’t normal on another planet. And sometimes they bump into each other, and like stuff happens, and then more stuff. Cool, right? No way. Sometimes it’s totally uncool. Anyways, that’s what we’re here for.”
Tom winced. “At least he is enthusiastic.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It gets worse.” Muffy fast-forwarded through Jimmy’s rambling, incoherent sales pitch.
Jimmy’s tie was now undone and he was looking rather flustered. “So, uh, you’re like the strong silent type. Fine, whatever, dude. If you don’t want insurance, that’s on you, man. Don’t come crying to us when a portal opens and vegetarians attack and make your planet into a salad bar! And you’re all like ahhh nooo I’m getting chewed! Some dude’s eating my face!”
“Not the most diplomatic approach, but young Jimmy does raise a valid concern.” Militant Space Vegans really were a terrible menace, so gassy and self-righteous, as they roamed the galaxy in their eco-friendly battle cruisers.
“There’s more,” Muffy assured him.
When the hologram returned to normal speed, giant sweat rings had appeared in the armpits of Jimmy’s dress shirt. He had taken his necktie off and was wearing it as a bandana as he shouted at the hapless cabbage. “You just keep staring at me! Why you got to be so judgmental, man? You think because you’re all full of vitamins and minerals and antioxidants and shit you’re better than me? Huh? Well you’re not! You’re not!”
“Ah, I think I see your point, Ms. Wappler.”
“Uh-huh.” Muffy just nodded as she skipped forward again. Now Jimmy was out of view of the camera, but it was obvious from the sound that he was beneath the table, crying.
“It would appear that Ambassador Cabgar won that round.”
“That whole video was only four and a half minutes long, Mr. Stranger. Look, I know you like the
kid because he took a bullet for you, and I’m not saying that he’s totally useless, just mostly useless.”
“What use would you suggest for him then?”
“Uh . . .” Muffy was temporarily stumped, but like a true insurance professional she always managed to find the bright side of every situation. “Some planets still use Soylent Green. Jimmy is mostly made out of valuable proteins and fats.”
He had been hoping Jimmy had some prospects better than being rendered down into an edible paste. “Thank you, Ms. Wappler. That will be all.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, Mr. Stranger.” Muffy got up to leave.
Normally, anyone who was enough of a warrior and scholar to survive an Interdimensional Insurance Internship would be offered a Junior Associate position upon graduation. Despite Tom’s initial assessment that Jimmy would be a miserable failure—for heaven’s sake, he was getting a degree in Gender Studies—Tom had still hoped the young man would make the cut. Miraculously, Jimmy had survived for a bit, but in so doing he had brought dishonor upon their company. Unfortunately, in a business where the smallest error could lead to horrifying painful death or, worse, dissatisfied customers, there was no room for a Jimmy.
“Would you please send Jimmy in to speak with me? I’m afraid I’m going to have to make some cuts.”
Muffy clapped her hands gleefully. “Yes, sir! Should I fetch your decapitating axe and a tarp?”
“What? Why?”
“To protect the new carpet obviously.”
“Oh.” That failure of clear office communication was upon Tom. Jimmy’s use of slang had rubbed off on him. Yet another example of reckless unprofessionalism. The intern was a force of chaos. “Sorry, I meant I was going to terminate him. His employment I mean . . . Not his life. That would probably be wrong.”
“Well, shucks.” Muffy seemed a little dejected. “I’ll go get Jimmy.”
When Muffy told him that Mr. Stranger needed to speak with him in private, Jimmy was super pumped. He’d been totally rocking it as the new hotness at Stranger & Stranger. He was probably going to get an epic raise, probably a promotion too, a big office with windows, and his own giant fighting robot.
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