I woke up the other day to a cell phone trying desperately to function but repeatedly getting stuck before it was fully operational. I love technology when it works. I struggle with controlling my baser impulses when it doesn't. Never keep a hammer within easy reach. Far too tempting.
Since I have some phone calls to make, I get online and look up my phone account. There's a nifty program called "Back-up Assistant" that is guaranteed to cover your butt in an unforeseen cellular meltdown like mine. One slight problem: you need to have your cell number operational on a functioning phone before your contacts can be transferred to your PC for easy retrieval. Or so I am told by the techie on the phone after the requisite wading through the automation system to wait my turn in a long line of other luckless phone owners. Another problem: my cell number is dead in the water. Well, actually, it isn't in the water. In fact, the phone my daughter ran through the washer is working fine whereas my phone, dry and unscathed, is dead.
Ms Techie suggests I remove the battery, reinsert, and try my phone again.
"Did it. Several times." I say trying to remember it isn't her fault things are not going well this morning. After several other maneuvers the conclusion is reached. My phone is dead and will not resurrect short of a miracle. The good news? I'm due for an upgrade. So it's all good. Right? Wrong.
I put cell phone decisions in the same league of fun as dental visits. Well, almost anyway. What if I choose badly? I'm stuck with it for two years unless I want to take a second mortgage on the house to pay for a different one. And to make everything even more fun, I have a sinus infection of epic proportions. I can barely decide whether to take a shower or not, let alone what phone to buy.
My daughter offers her old phone. "It works fine. It just has two black spots on the screen." She says.
"Where did they come from?" I ask.
"No idea. First there were lines across the screen, then they disappeared. Next day there were spots. But it works fine."
Great, a loaner phone with poltergeist tendencies. Well, who knows, it might be fun.
It is interesting. I can entertain myself trying to decipher messages with two black spots blocking crucial words. When I want to call my daughter I press "Me" and when I want to call my husband I push "Dad." And every time it rings I get to play "Name This Caller" because my contacts are now my daughter's and therefore not mine. Kind of like an old Belvedere station wagon we had in the seventies. When you wanted to drive you put it in neutral and when you wanted to back-up you put it in park.
I promise myself as soon as I can breathe through my nose again, I will brave the phone store and get myself a new cell.
In due course my sinuses clear a bit and it is time to make some decisions. I have heard more than once that buying online is a better option than going to one of the many cell phone stores scattered about. So I decide to give it a try. And all goes well. Until it is time to enter my delivery address. Seems my physical address, the place where I've had countless packages delivered over the past thirty-five years by every delivery service around, is invalid. Who knew?!
A pop-up asks if I want to chat, live, with yet another techie. Sure, I say. Why not? So she tells me via the chat screen that her name is Danyelle but I am not fooled. "She" is probably a 300 pound, sweating man named Bubba. But as long as he knows how to get me my phone, who cares?
So I try every variation of my address Bubba and I can think of. "Refresh" he says so I do. "Spell out the word 'road'. Like this: Road." he says.
I resist the urge to write back, "So that's how it's spelled. I've always wondered!"
Finally the exact combination of changes that are required take place and voila! my order is accepted. I could have driven to the store and back several times by now. Of course it is snowing outside and I am not fully dressed, so it's better this way.
I check the box to accept all the terms and conditions. No I did not read the ten-page volume they fill. Surely they are the same as the last time I did this, right? I have the feeling I have just signed my life away but by now all I want is for this to be over. "Print this Page for your records" I am instructed. The print button doesn't seem to understand that when it is pushed it is supposed to do its thing. That's okay. I know how to circumvent this simple rebellion and I soon have a novel-size manuscript of my recent transactions in my hot little hands.
I have a terrible feeling I could have gotten a better deal. Which makes no sense since my upgrade is free. In fact, according to the cell phone site, it is worth $549.00. But out of their generous hearts they are giving it to me just for promising two more years of servitude. They promise my new phone will be on my doorstep in two days, which is
less time than it took me to order it. I hope they got my address
right. I pretend to believe everything I was promised and with great effort walk out of my office willing myself to not look back.
I keep discovering things I've lost, like my calendar and my memos. At least the appointments I'm likely missing are compensating me with extra time to spend worrying about who is sitting where, waiting for me to arrive. Texts with details I still need are gone for good. And my contact list. My hope of getting that back is growing more feeble by the day.
I got absolutely maudlin this afternoon remembering the days of the rotary phones, firmly attached with a black cord to the little box above the baseboard in the living room. The receiver was likewise attached to the phone with a curly black cord of its own. There was never any "has anyone seen my phone?" or the throwing of sofa cushions across the room while attempting to locate the sound of the ringing. There was no call-waiting so one could rudely cut off caller one to see what caller two was wanting. Of course there was also no caller ID to give you the option of not answering if it was that obnoxious busybody up the street or a telemarketer from India. Actually, there were no telemarketers. And the busybody could just listen in on the party line anytime she wanted to.
I'll admit, though, that I wouldn't choose to digress technologically. It's a great comfort to have a GPS-equipped cell phone along on a trip to unfamiliar places. It's nice to prevent unnecessary forays to town with a simple phone call to a family member who's already there. It's a really convenient time-saver to send a mass text about an up-coming event. And it is a wonderful safety feature to keep track of a loved one traveling far afield.
Now that the stressful deciding and ordering is over, I can't wait to get my hands on my new phone. But I think I'm going to miss the two black dots on my screen. And I'm still waiting for the stripes to make an appearance.
