Tales from the Customer Service desk - Lucy Laceration

Once upon a time there was a woman. The woman, one day, said to herself, What I need are some knives. Very cheap knives.

Fortunately, there was a company out there that could without any difficulty ship her as many cheap folding knives as she required. She found that company and ordered 20 or so slightly varying cheap folding knives, which were then shipped to her house.

The woman, we'll call her Lucy, opened the box and reached in to remove the packing paper on the top of the box.

Ouch! She exclaimed. One of the knives had magically opened, rotated itself into an upright position, and attacked her as she removed the packing paper. Lucy was bleeding, but that didn't stop her from digging further into the box.

Ouch! she exclaimed again. Much to her surprise, it seemed all of the cheap knives had escaped their boxes, locked into the open position, and had been waiting to strike. She had suffered yet another cut. Not easily deterred, Lucy made a third attempt to remove the knives from the box, which resulted in yet a third laceration.

This isn't very much fun at all, thought Lucy. Perhaps I should have my husband help me with this.

Lucy called her beloved to her side. Honey, she said, all these knives seem to be open and to have ill intent. I keep reaching into the box, and they keep cutting me. Can you help me?

Lucy's husband was like every other husband on earth - he looooooved to feel useful. Best of all was when he could feel useful by doing something for his wife that she couldn't do herself. His chest swelled and his armpits grew more rank as the testosterone surged.

Sure, little lady! He plunged his hand into the Box-O-Sharpness, then shrieked like a little girl. He, too, had been viciously lacerated!

Lucy and her husband stood back and looked at the Box-O-Sharpness. This crate of cheap knives was obviously out to get them. It had been packed by people with evil intent. Perhaps it had been waylaid enroute to their home, and all the knives opened and poised to cause maximum damage. Whatever the story, the situation was obviously Not Right.

So! They called the company from which Lucy had ordered the knives. They talked to a Very Nice Man who answered the phone and who obviously felt their pain. He assured them they'd be contacted by someone very soon, someone who would help them sort through all the pain and suffering they'd experienced. Perhaps, Lucy thought as she hung up the phone, the person who called them would offer freebies! Or some other sort of compensation. Because, really, when you're attacked by a giant box of $3 knives, you deserve nothing so much as compensation. This is America!

Lucy waited by the phone for an hour, then it rang. The voice at the other end identified itself as Abby, from the Fixin' Problems department at Box-O-Knives, Inc.

Lucy told her sad story. She recounted the way the first knife had been lurking, as if part of an intricately designed booby trap, right under the box lid. She recounted the way the other knives had also attacked her. And finally she recounted the way her husband had also been the victim of these vicious knives.

She concluded her story, certain that Box-O-Knives, Inc was trembling already, visualizing a lawsuit that would decimate the company. She waited for the verdict, wondering what the freebie would be. A referral to the Legal Dept to talk about a cash settlement? 500 free cheap-ass knives? The anticipation was overwhelming.

"Y'all cut yourself multiple times reaching into a cardboard box?" said Abby. She didn't sound impressed, but maybe that was simply the cold horror of a potential civil suit dawning on her.

Yes, yes, Lucy assured her. Several times. Reaching into the same box. Every time we reached into the box, we were cut!

"You can return them if you want, but since they are obviously sharp, I don't know that we'll find them defective." Lucy could have sworn Abby stopped for a drink of something. "Either way, you're going to need to box them up and send them back here so we can look at them."

But we cut ourselves! Lucy pointed out. Repeatedly!

"I have to assume," said Abby. "given the fact that none of these are auto-opening knives, that's what we'd refer to as operator error."

Are you saying it's our fault we cut ourselves? Lucy shrieked.

"That's certainly what I'd be inclined to think," Abby responded. "Are we clear on the return procedure?"

Lucy hung up and cried. Abby hung up, giggled, and went out for a cigarette.