Irregular Service

A short story by BJ Thoray

The ads were right: It’ll cancel subscriptions you didn’t even know you had. Altheo had

taken that statement as ad copy, but the app had discovered a true “irregularity”.

The gym kept charging a glisten fee even after he stopped with the personal trainer. An ex was still on his MyMusic account. He was paying for the language learning app he’d ditched when that person stopped messaging and those travel plans fell through. At least he was being proactive. It was a new year, and his resolution was aimed at his wallet.

He’d started the app days into the new year and received a full report almost instantly.

Still, it wasn’t until the full breakdown 24 hours later that he grokked how truly odd his JawSaw subscription was. For one, he couldn’t remember subscribing to it. The music, the gym, the language app, those he had at least inklings of. A browser search yielded little beyond fora reviewing antiquated tech that were so niche as to be practically unintelligible to Altheo.

JawSaw had charged $4.32 every other month for the last three and a half years. This was beyond not noticing the charges and not remembering signing up for it. He didn’t even

understand what it did. This was the exact sort of wastefulness his new self in the new year was scrubbing. He uninstalled the app and watched its icon – an unfamiliar rune-like symbol with lace-like edges – explode into confetti. Altheo calculated the expenses. He hemmed and hawed about emailing the Better Business Bureau, checked his dating app for any responses, found none, and sent off the email.

JawSaw reentered his life several weeks later. Altheo’s resolutions had faded into regular life, and his financial prudence had been offset by renewed appetites. At first, he thought the call was a seller because it was an unknown number with his area code. He generally avoided answering the phone, but there was no scam warning.

“Is this a Mr. Altheo?”

“Who is this?”

“Ah, good afternoon, Mister Al-Theo! How are you today?”

The stranger’s voice was chipper and instantly deferential, with a wee lilt of forced

sophistication. It wasn’t the afternoon. It was still morning in fact. Altheo regretted picking up. They might’ve been from the same place, but they’re not anymore.

“I’m, uh, I’m okay.”

“Very good. I hope I’m not disturbing you. Is now an okay time to have a brief chat?”

“Ummmmm…sure.” Altheo was now confident in his regret.

“Excellent. You see, about your JawSaw subscription, we haven’t received your payment for this past pay period.”

Altheo remembered what this was about. “Yep. I cancelled. I’ve been watching my

spending, and I think I signed up to your service by mistake. Maybe it was a free trial?”

“Aha, I see. Yes, very good. We are calling to ask you to reconsider your lapse.”

Altheo thought about hanging up.

“I guess, the thing is, I cancelled because I don’t need it, and I don’t know why I needed

it in the first place. Also, I don’t know what it is.”

“I understand. We can’t continue without your payment. Our company. It cannot proceed. Without your contribution. After all this time, the thought that you might not contribute completely caught us off guard. You must reconsider, kindly.”

“But, and I’m not trying to argue here, I’ve been paying you like five bucks every two

months right?”

Altheo could hear rustling over the phone, and the voice sounded stressed scrambling for accurate information.

“Approximately 36 months. A value-loaded, impactful 36 months it has been for JawSaw and Mr. Altheo, yes, Mr. Altheo?”

He started to speak but sputtered. Finally, he caught his words. “I don’t use this app, and I don’t remember signing up for it. I just don’t see why I should keep paying you for it.”

“I understand, and it gives no pride to beg, but I must remind you, we won’t, can’t go on without your subscription payment.”

“But, like, you must have other customers and that amount isn’t hard to make up,” Altheo offered in genuine confusion.

“I can tell that you don’t remember, or perhaps no longer understand, why you procured our service, but indeed it fills both your needs and ours.”

“You’re right. I don’t remember why or how I signed up. What is JawSaw?”

“We are the guerrilla streaming service.”

“I’m sorry, the gorilla streaming service?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Altheo, discerning homophones on the phone can be quite tricky. Did you say ‘gorilla’ as in the ape?”

Altheo ran his hands through his hair. “Yes, the gorilla streaming service?”

“Ah, no. Not the ape. The word in question is spelled G-U-E-R-I-L-L-A.”

“Like the warfare?”

“Yes, Che Guevera and such. We believe that’s what a good business does.”

“How did I sign up for this? I literally have no recollection of it.”

“That may be so, Mr. Altheo, but it simply does not change the fact that our service will

or should not continue without your subscription payment.”

“How is this my obligation? To pay you for something I don’t use? That I don’t want?That I don’t remember ever wanting?”

“Mr. Altheo, according to our metrics, you have been using our service. As recently as

this week. Perhaps without realizing. Perhaps using Parasite Mode?”

“That’s not true,” Altheo spat out. “That can’t be true.”

“When you zone out staring at the curtains, when you buzz at the window transfixed,

perhaps these moments are within you. I cannot say, Mr. Altheo, but our data suggests that you’ve been active with us.”

“I didn’t ask! I didn’t use it! And if I did, you should come haul it away because I didn’t

mean to!”

Silence crackled on the line. Altheo recognized that it was he who had lost patience.

“That is not how our service works. Perhaps it has become invisible to you. Have you

checked Parasite Mode?”

Altheo took a deep breath. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Please, Mr. Altheo, I implore you. Make your payment. Do our service.”

Altheo felt a yell inside him. He wanted, nay, needed to request the form to cancel or

unsubscribe, have his name purged from whatever roll they held, be free.

“Okay,” he said. “Until the end of the year.”

The voice lifted. “Thank you for your service.”

BJ Thoray is a writer/editor active in the nonprofit and content creation spaces. BJ’s stories have been published in The Aesthete, Forum literary magazine, Rundelania!, Black Cat Press, Mobile Data Mag, Prosetrics, and Kosmos Obscura. Originally from California, BJ is currently based in Belgium, less for the waffles, more for the surrealism. The work: https://linktr.ee/bjthoray