It was an unexpected message. In the middle of the day, my phone vibrated to indicate that either it was incredibly cold or had just received a message. Upon closer inspection, I could see the message preview that read as follows: ‘WE MISS YOU’. Presumably the use of upper case was intended to emphasise exactly how much they missed me. Who could it be? Who did I know that valued my presence so deeply that they felt the need for an all-caps message in the middle of the workday? I eagerly picked up my phone to find out. It was, as it transpired, a message from my dry cleaner.
This is embarrassing. Some months ago, I dropped off some suits for a bit of a spruce up. A couple of days later, I stopped by to pick them up again. Money was exchanged. All was (or so I thought) well with the world. It was simple. It was transactional. It was over. But what I regarded as a casual dalliance that was motivated by a need to get the chocolate stains out of my work pants, was clearly interpreted as something far more meaningful and enduring by the dry cleaner. To put it mildly, I was caught off guard.
How did I get it so terribly wrong? I had assumed that we were on the same page, never thinking for a moment that there might be an expectation that we’d keep in touch. Granted, it’d been a while since I’d been to the dry cleaners and it’s quite possible that the entire dynamic has been the subject of a dramatic overhaul whilst I was off spilling chocolate on my work pants. Serves me right.
When it comes to service providers, I’d describe myself as having a somewhat mercenary disposition. Granted, I visit the supermarket once a week, but I don’t call it in between trips to see how it’s feeling. Excursions to my nearest department store are more seldom still but it’s never occurred to me to send it a card just to let it know that it’s in my thoughts. I just want what I want before moving on. If that seems cold hearted, I can only say that this approach was once considered standard practise.
When did shops get so emotionally needy? When I drop off a suit and some pairs of slacks for some minor titivation, I’m not expecting any kind of emotional attachment. I’m not sure what I said or did that charmed them so, or how it is that I managed to make such a deep and lasting impression on them, but I better figure it out, because I’ve got to duck to the shops for milk and I don’t the Coles Express to fall hopelessly in love with me.
What if the text message is just the start? What if things only get worse? Before long, I’ll be overwhelmed by the sense that maybe, just maybe, I’m being watched and my mail read. With very little warning at all, it’s gone from a harmless and well-intentioned interaction that meant nothing to me, to full-blown Baby Reindeer-style obsession. Nobody wants a clinger, even if they do offer competitive prices that include a thirty per cent discount when you get three or more suits cleaned on a weekday.
Sometimes the phone rings and, when I answer it, all I hear is the sound of steam. It’s only six months to Valentines Day – if I don’t break it off now, I’m at serious risk of the local laundry taking out a full-page ad in the Herald Sun to declare it’s undying love for me. Best to take decisive action now in the hope that things will die down and life can get back to normal.
I picked up the phone and contemplated sending some kind of brilliant retort, such as ‘New phone, who dis?’ before hesitating. Engaging would, I feel, only make things worse. I could try saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ but that would be a gigantic lie as, deep in my heart, I’d know it’s absolutely one hundred per cent them. They could get sad. They might get angry. If things got really out of hand, they might even threaten some kind of legal action. Given the business they’re in, they’d inevitably try and take me to the cleaners.
At the end of the message was an opportunity to ‘opt out’ of future messages. I hesitated. Granted, being told by your dry cleaner that they ‘miss you’ is worrisome in the extreme, but it begs the question – why aren’t I getting these kinds of messages from anyone else? Is it because I’m really good at keeping in touch with my nearest and dearest? Definitely not. This leads me to that somewhat sad but inevitable conclusion that my dry cleaner likes me more than members of my immediate family. Sniff. It’s a hard truth, but there it is. Not only do I not hear from some of them, I couldn’t tell you the last time any of them starched my shirt collars.
When faced with the chance to opt out, I did nothing. I will, I think, keep things as they are for a little while. For now, I still receive lovelorn messages from the dry cleaner, telling me how much they miss me. And, for moment at least, that’s all I want.