avatarNishan Fuard

Summary

An employee at a Help Desk assists a grieving customer in transferring photos of her late husband from an SD card to a USB flash drive, reflecting on the emotional weight of handling someone else's intimate memories.

Abstract

The narrative centers on an encounter at a retail Help Desk, where the author, an employee, is approached by a customer seeking assistance with transferring personal photos from a camera SD card to a USB drive. The photos are of the customer's deceased husband, and the task proves to be more than a routine technical service—it's a poignant interaction with the customer's grief. The author, initially apprehensive about the emotional burden, agrees to help and is moved by the solemn images of the husband in his final moments. The experience leaves the author with a deeper appreciation for the gravity of such interactions and a sense of sorrow for the customer's loss.

Opinions

  • The author initially feels uncomfortable with the emotional weight of handling a stranger's personal memories.
  • There is a recognition of the impersonal nature of customer service, where the author's passive demeanor typically serves as a shield in difficult interactions.
  • The author admits to a moment of ignorance and arrogance in judging the customer's decision to photograph and keep such personal and tragic memories.
  • The experience prompts a shift in the author's perspective, leading to a feeling of sadness and a deeper connection to the human aspect of customer service.

Work Tales

Handle with Care

Carrying the weight of a stranger’s memories

Photo: ©Nishan Fuard

A customer asked if I could help her. She needed to move photos from a camera SD card onto a USB flash drive. There were tears in her eyes.

I worked at the Help Desk. It was the place in the store for customers to receive a refund, return an item, or have a product repaired. The Help Desk was where some shoppers would go to shout; it’s where the police came to when I called them.

In short: I handled customers’ wants; very few were in need.

The pictures were of her husband, who had recently passed away. Could I help? It was a simple request, but I felt uncomfortable with the burden of someone else’s memories.

I envisioned having to copy over hundreds of snaps of holidays, family gatherings, and dinner dates. Seeing a face that was no longer here. But it was a simple task; I said I would help.

There were only two files. I asked to open one to check if they were the correct images. She agreed.

Her husband lay on what appeared to be a bare hospital bed; his body was wrapped white, and only his face was showing.

Sometimes there is a benefit to having a passive face and a monotone voice: no need for a mask. When I have nothing to say, I say nothing. Selfish, it only helps me.

I copied the photos. The customer thanked me, and she left.

I had thought it an odd thing for her to photograph and keep. Know-nothing ignorance and arrogance, I know.

Now, I only feel sad about the day I met her husband.

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