Page 46 of The Inmate
“Yes…” I hate being on the phone without knowing who I’m speaking to when I start the call. The caller ID shows a blocked number. My heart sinks—not again. “Who is this?”
“It’s Dave Fulton. From the Vitamin Hut.”
“Oh, right.” I let out a sigh of relief. I made a sale to Fulton about a month ago. He was a little reluctant to sample our products in his small store, but after we had a nice long lunch together, I managed to change his mind and he purchased five boxes’ worth. “How can I help you, Mr. Fulton?”
“Look, Natalie.” His voice has a rough edge. Like the detective, his Boston accent is heavy. “Nobody is buying Collahealth. Nobody wants it. And the few sales I made, they returned it. They said it doesn’t work. Except for one woman, who said it gave her some weird side effects like her feet started tingling.”
“Yes, but it takes two to three months to see a response,” I explain. “Did you tell them that?”
“You said two to three weeks.”
“No, two to threemonths. That’s how long it takes to build up the collagen levels.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles. “The point is, I can’t move this crap. And I can’t deal with people coming in complaining about side effects.”
“There are no side effects. Studies have shown that Collahealth is perfectly safe.”
“That’s not the point. I want a refund. I’ve got three boxes I haven’t even opened yet.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Fulton. Vixed does not allow refunds.”
There’s a long silence on the other line. “What the hell are you talking about, Natalie? You told me I could get a refund if the product didn’t sell.”
“You must have misunderstood,” I say in my most apologetic voice. “Vixed Products have a limited shelf life, and we couldn’t possibly allow refunds.”
“Are you serious? This shit is expensive. You’re saying I’m stuck with two boxes of your crap that I can’t sell?”
Fulton’s voice is getting louder. I imagine the veins bulging out on his thick neck, his eyes popping in their sockets.
“I’msosorry,” I say. God, it’s too early for this. “It’s just that this is the company policy. I don’t make the rules. They do. If it were up to me, I would give you a refund.”
“But you told me I could get a refund! That’s the whole reason I bought them!”
“I… I don’t know what to say…. I’m very sorry.”
Fulton is breathing hard on the other line. Now I imagine smoke coming out of his hairy ears. “I want to talk to your manager.”
“Of course,” I say. “Just hold on one moment.”
I press the hold button and put down the phone. I look down at my nails—there’s an uneven edge on my left index finger. I dig around in my purse until I locate my nail file. I file down the uneven edge. I blow off the dust from my fingernail. Fixing my nails always makes me feel better.
I push my newly filed nail against the hold button and pick up the phone. “Mr. Fulton?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m so sorry.” I sigh. “I just checked with my manager, and he’s on another call, but he told me to let you know that we can’t make any exceptions to our policy. I’m afraid we can’t offer you a refund.”
Again, there’s silence on the other line. “You lied to me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You lied to me,” he spits out. “You told me I could get a refund on your crappy product, and that’s the only reason I bought it. And also because you stuck your tits in my face.”
“Mr. Fulton—”
“You’re a lying bitch,” he hisses. “And I hope your piece of shit company goes out of business.”
With those words, there’s a loud click on the other line. Dave Fulton has hung up on me.
