I figured that during this well deserved winter vacation that I’d just sit around, finish Skyward Sword, and get hibernationally chunky, but then this happened. It’s such a compelling and appropriate issue, since a year ago, I was going through the same kind of bullshit, and I’m just tickled with how it all turned out. You can read the full transcript of the exchange and its metamorphosis here, but presuming that you’re too polite to click on a link mid-sentence or article, I’ll sum it all up in five short sentences:
Basically, a dude ordered a crazy new controller accessory online and worried about rumored delays of its release. He emailed the company he bought it from, and the guy who responded was a dickslut and responded like a dickslut. The customer then got extremely agitated and wrote a long (somewhat petulant, in all honesty) manifesto describing his dissatisfaction with the company, and the dickslut’s response this time was so dicktified and slutted out that it got the attention of Mike Krahulik, artist and co-founder of Penny Arcade, who banned the dickslut’s company from all future Penny Arcade events including the E3-mocking PAX and PAX East. The story ends with the dickslut begging for Mike to turn off the wrath of the entire Internet, and his reputation and career in utter shambles.
A staple of my internet diet, I wouldn’t know where to begin describing the phenomenon that is Penny Arcade. It is a comic, on the Internet, mostly about video games. Also, it’s just about the only one I read, which in itself implies that it’s fucking amazing. I can still remember the first time encountering the Fruit Fucker in a comic and how I couldn’t stop laughing for hours after. My whole body hurt and I was hooked ever since. Go read every comic right now – I’ll wait.
I wasn’t fortunate enough to have Penny Arcade on my side when I was dealing with a certain online order company that fucked everything up and made me lose my shit last year. But honestly, I’m pretty happy about that. When I think about all the attention and press that this incident arouses, I shudder to think about being on either end, let alone in the middle of it. It’s overwhelming, and knowing the capriciousness of the Internet’s viciousness, you can guess that not only was the dickslut’s info haxxored to pieces, but someone probably went after the customer, too. One thing’s for sure – it’s not worth being famous on the motherfucking Internet unless you have a security team on your payroll. I don’t care if it’s some dude who works for Cheetos and admin rights, you really fucking need to have one. Think of all the people raped by the Internet from Star Wars kid to Jessie Slaughter. Try for a second to think about all the sleep lost by those unfortunate characters when their shit went viral. Even when you’re famous for something awesome like Chocolate Rain the fallout’s got to be intense, plus there are lulz to be had and no expense to be spared.
But we’re talking about customer service here, so in all seriousness – fuck that dickslut fuck. Even when the customer writes something stupid like “p.s. that’s how I roll, bitch,” and you stop feeling sorry for him, the sheer unprofessionalism that the dickslut exhibited in his response to the customer – his company’s client – is astonishing and I wish him all the pain and stress and panic attacks and hemorrhoids he deserves, which is all of them. I may or may not be spoiled by the Japanese credo of customer service which translates to “The Customer is God,” which owns the antiquated absolute of “the customer is always right,” in every way. While waiters in the West make this their mantra in hopes of tips, not even the lowliest lackey at Japan’s shittiest burger joint would risk the reputation of their company by telling a customer to “put on their big boy hat,” and “wait it out like everybody else” if they were waiting for something like a shipment of Mos Burger sauce. And nobody gets tips in Japan except sex workers, anyway. Just remember, that when the customer is God, you can choose not to worship that particular diety — but don’t forget that divine wrath can be just that.
We’re talking the customer’s dollar here, god dammit. It hurts enough right now to give it up without making us beg for the promised exchange. Don’t be a dickslut. And by the way, thanks, dickslut, for being an example of what not to be. We needed a holy sacrifice for the solstice, anyway.
Merry Christmas, readers. Hope you didn’t get too badly bruised by the big bumbling machine of commerce this year.