Chapter OneMonday Morning
“You’ve reached Curio Customer Service. My name is Cal. How can I help you today?”
“Hello? Hello? Is someone there? Is a human actually speaking to me?”
“Yes. Ma’ am—”
“Oh, my God. Just a second. Don’t hang up! For the love of all that is holy, stay on the line!”
“I’m not going anywhere, ma’am.” “I just have to pull over. Just let me get off the road.
Jeez! Where’d you learn to drive, you lunatic!?!”
“Are you talking to me, ma’am?”
“No! Not unless you’re driving that red Taurus that almost sideswiped me.”
“I am definitely not doing that . . . How about we just don’t talk until you pull over somewhere safe?”
“But you’ll stay on the line, right? Don’t hang up!”
“I won’t hang up.”
“Good, because do you have
any idea how long I’ve been listening to that horrible hold music? Three hours and forty-five minutes. I could have watched
Titanic in the amount of
Bastonetime I’ve been on hold. No. That’s way too relaxing of an example. You know what I
actually could have done in the amount of time I’ve been on hold? I could’ve brushed my teeth, gotten dressed, painted my toenails, waited for them to dry, gone down the block and ordered a bad bagel and the wrong coffee, gotten into my car and driven all the way from Brooklyn to the middle of Jersey in traffic so slow I nearly ripped my hair out.
That’s how long I’ve been on hold!”
“Those were . . . extremely specific examples.”
“That’s because they weren’t examples. That’s literally everything I did while I was actually on hold.”
“I gathered that.”
“Okay. There. Here I am. I pulled off the road. Hopefully I don’t get axe murdered in this wasteland.”
“If you’re somewhere unsafe we can definitely—”
“No! No. Don’t you dare suggest we wait another minute. I’ve been on hold for a lifetime. I’m practically ninety years old now but I’m getting my laptop out and turning my hotspot on and we are fixing this website issue immediately.”
“All right . . . Do you want to start by telling me what the problem is?”
“Well, it’s just one huge problem! You know, I used Curio because someone recommended it to me. And because every other website-building service that I tried was awful. They all say that they’re user friendly and that no matter how little experience you have with that kind of thing, it’s easy to build your site. But they
lie. They’re nothing but a hellscape. Literally my version of hell is forever building my website. Choosing between fonts and minutely different background colors for all eternity. H-E-Double Hockey Sticks.”
“I see.”
“Did you just laugh at me?”
“I laughed
with you. You’re funny.” “You know what’s not funny? My dumpster fire of a website. No, this is so much worse than a dumpster fire. It’s a garbage barge fire . . . Stop laughing, Cam.”
“Right. Sorry. Cal. My name is Cal. And I am here to help you. If you point me toward the issues your site is having, I promise we can fix them.”
“Well, for starters, it doesn’t
work. The whole thing.”
“Okay. Can you give me your user ID? Once I get into your account, I should be able to help figure this out.”
“Oh. Sure. It’s, um, bigcojonesvera69.”
“Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“That would be because I mumbled it because it’s ridiculously embarrassing and when I came up with it I never thought anyone would ever know about it except for me.”
“I promise I won’t judge you.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll say it again, but no laughing at me.”
“Deal.”
“It’s bigcojonesvera69.”
“. . .”
“I can
feel you laughing at me.”
“I’m not! I swear. You just, ah, caught me off guard. Would you mind spelling that out for me?”
“B-I-G-C-O-J-O-N-E-S
—stop laughing—V-E-R-A-6-9.”
“Okay, just one second while I sync with your account.”
“I’m not usually this silly, I swear. It was just that starting a website for my business really made the whole thing feel real and I needed a confidence boost. So, what better way than to look at my username and remember that I’ve got big cojones?”
“Naturally. Makes sense to me. And I assume your name is Vera?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, I should have asked for your name right away. I’m still getting used to the customer service thing.”“Oh.
Great.”“No, no, I’m not new to website troubleshooting. I’ll totally get your site squared away. It’s just the customer service thing I’m still getting the hang of.”
“I’m your first? I’ll try to be gentle.”
“Much appreciated. But you’re not my first. I mean, you’re not the first customer I’ve serviced. Oh, God. That’s not what I—Now you’re the one laughing.”
“Of course I’m laughing. That was the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
“Okay, ma’am, I’m truly sorry for, ah, misspeaking. I’m synced to your site now and it won’t be a problem to assist you.”
“Oh, is your manager listening in or something? WHO-EVER IS LISTENING, PLEASE DON’T FIRE CAL UNTIL HE HELPS ME FIX MY WEBSITE. I PROMISE I WASN’T OFFENDED BY HIS OFFER TO SERVICE ME.”
“I didn’ t—never mind. Oh, man. I see what you mean about your website. This is . . . not functional. Maybe if I . . . No. But what if . . . No. I wonder . . .”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Cal? You still there?”
“Oh, sorry. I was getting lost in problem-solving mode already. I haven’t seen an issue like this before.”
“Ugh.”
“Did you say you had your laptop out and had internet access?”
“Well, I’m using my hotspot so I’ve got extremely
pricey internet access.”
“Right. Do me a favor and go to your homepage and hit refresh. I’m wondering if I just fixed the issue.”
Copyright © 2026 by Cara Bastone. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
