Customer Support for the Universe Customer support for the universe ryan Laurent Disappointment haD Long sinCe beCome his miDDLe name. Ryan Laurent Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Customer Support for the Universe Customer Support for the Universe Ryan Laurent Ryan Laurent An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Customer Support for the Universe H arold P. Jenkins wasn’t expecting much when he dialled the mysterious 1-800 num- ber printed on the back of his cereal box. Af- ter all, he had just come off a thoroughly disappoint- ing chat with his internet provider, which had, of course, begun with the usual “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” and ended with a 45-minute wait on hold, during which Harold had been serenaded by the sound of Muzak playing a torturous rendition of “We Are the Champions” on a kazoo. To say his expectations were low would be an understatement. Disappointment had long since become his middle name. But what he didn’t expect, as he dialled the num- ber and tried to ignore the increasingly nonsensical series of automated prompts “Press 1 for quantum entanglement, press 2 for a chance to experience déjà Ryan Laurent vu at a 50% discount” was a cheerful voice greeting him as if he were calling the cosmic customer service department. “Thank you for calling Customer Support for the Universe. How may I assist you today?” Harold blinked. He hadn’t even had time to open his mouth, but it seemed his existence, his entire real- ity , in fact—was being addressed with the same sense of urgency as a pizza order. “I... uh... I’m sorry, did you say the universe?” Harold stammered, his mind doing an instant som- ersault. “That’s correct, Mr. Jenkins. You are currently en- rolled in the beta version of existence. We’d like to inform you that an upgrade is available.” Harold gaped at the phone, as if expecting some technical glitch or robotic malfunction. Surely, his ears were playing tricks on him, like when you thought you heard a newscaster say “ninja kangaroos on the loose” and you tried to Google it but were faced with nothing but a blank screen. “Beta version of existence?” he repeated slowly. “Like, the universe ? The one with the sun and gravity and...” Customer Support for the Universe “...And customer support?” the voice finished for him, its tone light and breezy, as if they were discuss- ing the weather. “Yes, that would be the one.” Harold blinked a few more times, just to make sure. He had woken up to find that the coffee ma- chine wasn’t working, the dog had eaten his left shoe, and the neighbour’s garden gnome had been myste- riously moved to his front porch, but this... this was an entirely different level of absurdity. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong number,” Harold mumbled, wondering if the sound of his own voice was perhaps more comforting than whatever he was hearing. “I mean, I just wanted to check why my cereal box was printed in Comic Sans...” “Oh no, this is the right number, Mr. Jenkins. It’s very rare for anyone to reach us, so we’re quite pleased you dialled in!” The voice seemed genuinely chipper , which Harold found a bit unnerving. “Would you like to know more about your current subscription?” “Subscription?” Harold’s mind spun. “I didn’t sub- scribe to anything, at least, I don’t remember doing so! This is about my cereal !” Ryan Laurent “Ah, yes, your cereal. A delightful choice, I must say. Very high in, let’s see... well, not quite nutrients, but definitely high in marketing .” The voice chuckled to itself, as if finding an inside joke in the very fabric of the cosmos. “But let’s focus. You’ve been enrolled in the beta version of existence, where time is sub- jective, reality is a bit wobbly, and gravity’s just an optional feature in certain areas. We’ve noticed a few minor bugs like, for instance, socks disappearing in the dryer and random existential crises during ear- ly mornings and we’ve developed an upgrade . Much smoother experience, less chaos. Would you like to upgrade ?” Harold stared at the phone, half-wondering if he’d accidentally signed up for some cosmic prank. “So, you’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that I’ve been liv- ing in some sort of... trial version of the universe?” “That’s correct!” the voice said, as if Harold had just come to a brilliant realization. “You’re part of the Beta-verse , Mr. Jenkins! Some glitches, some not-so- subtle nods to things like ‘free will’ and ‘fate,’ but oth- erwise, a delightful little jaunt. But we’re offering you the chance to upgrade to the full experience .” “Wait,” Harold interrupted, suddenly grasping for any semblance of sanity. “You mean... I’m, what, Customer Support for the Universe some kind of... test subject ? Like some cosmic guin- ea pig?” “Well, I wouldn’t call it test subject exactly, Mr. Jen- kins,” the voice replied smoothly. “More like... an en- thusiastic participant in a limited-time cosmic expe- rience. The whole existence thing is, after all, a work in progress. You’ve done your part by existing. We think you’ll be pleased with the upgrade.” Harold rubbed his temples. “And what exactly does the upgrade entail? You mean, I get to keep the uni- verse, but with, what, fewer crashes and more plot ?” “Exactly! Fewer plot holes, more stability in the space-time continuum, and a healthy dose of new features, including but not limited to: free will with fewer consequences, non-dramatic weather patterns, and a reduction in the number of times you stub your toe while walking to the kitchen.” Harold couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, but it was the kind of laugh you give when your brain is still struggling to come to terms with the fact that you’ve just been offered a life upgrade by an anon- ymous voice claiming to be in charge of the entire universe. Ryan Laurent “And,” the voice added, its tone now growing more official, “we’ve made some updates to the afterlife. Far less bureaucracy, fewer waiting lines. So, you know, you might want to consider reaching the end of time at some point, though it’s entirely optional. It’s all in the fine print.” “Wait, the afterlife ?” Harold asked, the words com- ing out in a strangled gasp. “What do you mean ‘reaching the end of time’? You mean... like, dying ?” The voice didn’t seem phased. “Oh no, no. The af- terlife is just a feature . It’s more of an optional extra, like adding a leather interior to your car, but with fewer philosophical dilemmas. It’s just one of those things we’ve put in place to keep the cosmic bal- ance... well, balanced.” “Well, isn’t that nice,” Harold muttered, rubbing his eyes. “So, what, I’ve got to read a manual now to up- grade my existence?” “A 400-page terms and conditions document is al- ready on its way,” the voice replied. “It’s written in a language that changes mid-sentence, and occasion- ally randomly inserts math equations, but it’s all part of the fun!” Customer Support for the Universe “Of course it is,” Harold sighed, wondering if he should have skipped that last cup of coffee this morn- ing. “Now, Mr. Jenkins, all you have to do is say yes, and your upgrade will commence immediately. Sim- ply affirm with ‘Yes, I’d like to proceed,’ and all will be well. Your very own cosmic reset. What do you say?” Harold stared at the phone, half-distracted by the sound of a dog barking somewhere in the distance, his brain still struggling to catch up with the concept of an interdimensional tech support call. His fingers hovered over the ‘yes’ button. What could possibly go wrong? “Sure, why not?” he muttered. “After all, it’s not like my life can get any weirder.” The voice on the other end beamed, literally. “Thank you for choosing to upgrade your existence, Mr. Jenkins. We hope you enjoy the new features. And don’t forget to rate your experience when it’s all over!” Before Harold could reply, there was a sudden burst of static, and the world around him shimmered. For a brief moment, he saw his kitchen vanish, replaced Ryan Laurent by a giant floating potato with a hat. Then the whole of existence flickered and reset itself. Harold blinked. And then, somewhere deep within the core of the universe, someone pushed the button marked “ Cosmic Features: Activate .” And Harold P. Jenkins, unknowingly, stepped into a much bigger world. Customer Support for the Universe I. Harold P. Jenkins sat at his kitchen table, glaring at the 400-page terms-and-conditions document that had materialized in front of him. The universe, ap- parently, had a very particular way of doing things. It wasn’t exactly like one of those contracts for a new phone plan that you signed because you were pretty sure you understood the gist of it but still end- ed up paying for an extra five gigabytes of data you’d never use. No, this was something entirely different. This was a cosmic agreement that could only be de- scribed as “slightly more complicated” than your av- erage insurance policy. He flipped through the first few pages, trying to make sense of the bizarre symbols. Some of them looked like hieroglyphics, others like half-hearted attempts at alien graffiti, and one, he was almost cer- tain, was a particularly aggressive smiley face with the words “Don’t question it.” Ryan Laurent “What is this, a cosmic game of Pictionary?” Har- old muttered, squinting at a sentence that made him feel like someone had rewritten his entire life’s narra- tive using only a dictionary of nonsense. Upon accep- tance of this offer, you will be bound by the trans-di- mensional laws of improbability. If this creates any inconvenient paradoxes, please notify us within thirty minutes. He blinked. “Notify them of paradoxes?!” Harold said aloud, pacing around the kitchen in frustration. “How am I supposed to do that? ‘Excuse me, Universe, but I seem to have created a paradox involving my toaster and a goat. Could you help me with that?’” A strange static sound filled the air, and before Harold could finish making fun of the bizarre terms, the phone in his pocket buzzed. It was a number he didn’t recognize. The number was, of course, sus- piciously close to the one he had dialed earlier. He stared at it for a moment, then hit accept with a re- signed sigh. “Mr. Jenkins!” The voice on the other end was far too cheerful, as if the universe itself had been sipping far too much coffee and was now ready to make Har- Customer Support for the Universe old’s life exponentially weirder. “We noticed you’ve started reading the terms and conditions! Are you ready to sign?” “Ready to...?!” Harold sputtered. “I haven’t even gotten past the part about ‘voiding all previous life contracts.’” “Oh, don’t worry about that,” the voice said breezi- ly, as if Harold had asked about the weather. “It’s just a formality. You’ve agreed to all of that by being born. The whole ‘free will’ thing was more of an experi- ment anyway. A fun one, though. We had some good feedback!” “An experiment ?” Harold’s mouth went dry. He glanced at his dog, who was lounging on the couch, completely unaware of the existential horror his owner was currently experiencing. “You’re telling me my entire existence, my job, my dog, my socks, was all just one big beta test?” The voice chuckled warmly, like a kindly grand- father who had just slipped an extra sweet into his pocket for Harold. “Pretty much! It’s been running smoothly, but we’ve noticed a few minor glitches. Random socks disappearing in the laundry, that weird feeling of dread every Monday morning... we can fix all that with the upgrade! What do you say?” Ryan Laurent Harold sat back, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline, as if letting go of it would cause his very re- ality to disintegrate. “So, wait,” he said slowly, “if I don’t sign, I just... keep living in this version of the universe forever? With no updates?” “Well, not forever ,” the voice said, as though Harold had just asked about a subscription to an online ser- vice. “But pretty much! You’ll be locked into the cur- rent version. No patches, no bug fixes. That means you’ll have to live through another round of summer blockbuster movies, another three presidential elec- tions, and don’t even get me started on the upcoming line of spin-off TV shows. Your call.” Harold’s hand shook as he glanced down at the 400-page document, now ominously flipping to page 67. The page had the words “In case of paradoxes in- volving parallel universes, please consider contacting Customer Support for the Multiverse. They’re avail- able 24/7 except when they’re in alternate dimensions, which is quite often, so...” The sentence trailed off mid-page, leaving Harold to wonder if he was the one who had caused the bug. “I don’t know,” Harold said, scratching his head. “This all feels like a really bad idea. I mean, I can barely get a decent Wi-Fi connection. What happens Customer Support for the Universe if I upgrade and end up stuck in a universe where gravity works backward or where everyone speaks only in interpretive dance?” The voice was undeterred. “Oh, don’t worry about that! We’ve got a special section in the terms and con- ditions about gravity-related mishaps. It’s all covered. You’d be amazed at how many people experience in- verse gravity issues. But I can assure you, our patch for that is exceptionally effective.” “But the interpretive dance thing...?” Harold start- ed, but the voice cut him off with the kind of enthu- siasm usually reserved for salespeople trying to get you to sign up for a gym membership. “Covered! Don’t even think about it! You’re going to love the new version. Minor inconvenience warn- ing: If you experience a sudden urge to question your own existence, please ignore it. It’s a feature, not a bug. ” Harold frowned, glancing at his coffee cup as though it might somehow explain all of this. “Okay, okay,” he said finally, rubbing his eyes. “But what ex- actly am I agreeing to here? Because I swear, this is starting to sound like one of those ‘free trials’ that you forget to cancel before they charge you for the rest of your life.” Ryan Laurent The voice laughed, a little too loudly. “Ah, but you can’t cancel. It’s not like a regular subscription. The moment you sign, your reality starts upgrading. We’ve already started. We’ve added a few extra gal- axies just for fun, you’ll notice them in the next ten minutes. That whole universe-expansion feature is re- ally quite nice.” Harold’s head was spinning. New galaxies? Up- grading his reality? He had just gotten his toaster to stop popping toast at random intervals, and now he was being told that the universe itself was being... reorganized ? “I really don’t know...” Harold started, his voice trailing off. “This feels like the worst kind of deal ever. I mean, who even reads all 400 pages of this stuff? And what happens if I don’t sign? Do I just... keep living in this glitchy version of reality?” The voice gave a small, affectionate sigh. “Look, Harold, I’ll be honest. It’s your call. But you’ll be locked in. No more exciting new plotlines, no more random explosions of creativity. Just you, your job, your dog, and your socks. Is that what you want?” Harold stared at the phone, the temptation of an actual upgrade sitting before him like a cosmic buf- Customer Support for the Universe fet. He thought of the endless Mondays, the same re- petitive workdays, the stagnant existence. Then, he looked at his dog, who seemed far too busy napping to offer any useful advice. He made a decision. “Fine,” he said, voice firm. “I’ll upgrade.” “Excellent choice, Mr. Jenkins!” the voice beamed. “Welcome to the full experience! Please review the supplementary documentation on interdimensional time zones, black hole etiquette, and the complete guide to understanding your newly acquired super- human abilities!” And with that, the universe flickered, just a small glitch, like the briefest hiccup and Harold felt his life shift. He had no idea what he had just gotten himself into. But he was pretty sure it was going to be one heck of a ride. Ryan Laurent II. Harold P. Jenkins was officially starting to regret the moment he ever decided to dial the mysterious 1-800 number on the back of reality. He had signed a contract he barely understood, accepted an upgrade that seemed to involve far too many wormholes and cosmic shoe sales , and now found himself standing on the edge of a floating city that looked like Salvador Dalí had taken a break from melting clocks to exper- iment with a few too many psychedelics. “Er, hello?” Harold muttered to himself. “This isn’t exactly what I was expecting when they said I’d get ‘improved Wi-Fi.’” He blinked and squinted. The city, if it could even be called that, was an absolute mess of colours, shapes, and things that might have been buildings if they weren’t all hovering at odd angles. Some of them seemed to defy logic by existing simultaneous- ly as both upside down and right side up . Giant clock