inspiration + perspiration = invention :: T. Edison ::
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First of the month always brought in a fresh round of complaints at Galatus Inc. But Idira needed another set of eyes to help her deal with the latest.
Her supervisor stared at the screen. "When?"
"Twenty years ago." Contemporary near immortality being what it was, a twenty year wait time wasn't anything special. But it wasn't exactly common, either. Idira explained: "The complaint was filed by a Diamond de Watti, after negotiations with her publisher broke down over a pricing dispute. She contacted us to complain about her books still being available."
"God save us from authors," her supervisor muttered. "Make contact and inform her we're closing the complaint. Best if you can do it when she's not likely to respond. Check her timezone."
Idira did as she was told. She left a message, closed the ticket, and continued through the rest of her list until lunch. At precisely 12:01 she was just about to leave for a bite to eat when a video reply came in from Madame de Watti herself.
"Mme. de Watti, what a pleasant surprise. Did you receive the confirmation of your ticket's closure?"
"Yes, and I must protest. You have no right to do this."
Idira took a moment to respond. The woman onscreen wore a massive turban with ads running along the various folds. They winked in and out like a fiber optic Christmas tree, but her frown was decidedly unmerry. Getting her off the line once would be easy. Keeping her off would be the challenge. "Could you explain what your current difficulty is?" Complainers were sometimes satisfied with a verbal harangue.
It was hard to see the woman's eyes underneath the phantasmagorical headdress, but now she trained them on Idira like a sharpshooter. "I will make you a deal," she said, ignoring the question. "If you can answer three questions of mine, I will never speak on this subject again."
"Of course, Mme. de Watti, I'd be happy to answer your questions." After all, she hadn't specified what type of answer she wanted.
"Do you know why your company was founded?"
Idira choked on the standard template reply she'd been about to offer, confused by the non sequitor. "Er, yes, I do."
"Good. What was the founding principle of the original owner?"
Finally, a boilerplate question. "Do do the most good for the most people around the world, a motto we continue to strive for each and every day."
The woman smiled wide, each white tooth gleaming proudly. "Very good, Miss, very good. Now, I must ask you my final question, and then we may conclude our business. What, exactly, is your company's definition of 'good' in that last statement?"
Alarms whirled in Idira's mind as she contemplated her response. This kind of explanation was above her pay grade, possibly above her supervisor's authority as well. Good was an amorphous, elusive thing that made for a harmless motto no one could fault or define. Making an outright statement regarding what the company considered "good" could be very, very bad. Legal might get involved, the online pressarati would get wind of it, Idira could kiss her life goodbye. But the client was still waiting for an answer.
"That's a very philosophical question," she stalled for time, taking a tentative first step on the ice. "A good one, but not so easy to answer in the time we have. I will say this: Galatus is a company I think does a great deal for people. We make sure everyone is fed, clothed, and given at least one amusement or luxury per annum. That's no small accomplishment, though I realize there is more to life than those things. Good, like beauty, may be in the eyes of the beholder."
Mme. de Watti considered. "Thank you for speaking to me," she said. "I'll keep my word. Just make sure you continue to keep yours."
Idira let out a long breath as the video link shut down. She knew what Mme. de Watti had wanted her to say: that Galatus was a sham, that they'd long ago abandoned their namesake's altruistic ambitions for filthy lucre, that no amount of politispeak would gloss over the thousands who'd spend their long lifespans in eternal debt to a company bent on keeping them alive for all the wrong reasons.
But what she'd said was true as well. After all, Thomas Galatus hadn't exactly defined what he believed was good, and the board of directors had been forced to find their own meaning for that phrase after his death.
Considering the man had made his fortune by shilling for self-help gurus, it was hardly surprising his company determined the best way to live up to his standards was to remake them in their own image.
This story was inspired by a prompt from the Postorbital tumblr.