In September 2010 I got a Droid. It has been a comedy of errors -- with the comedic bits left out -- trying to get said Droid to function as it should. I've gone round and round with Verizon in attempts to get a phone that isn't possessed with a fury. Today I reached the end of the line. Here's what happened...
For the fifth time in the last sixteen months, I stalked through the doors of the Verizon store. I don't know about you, but I'm not quite so attached to my cell phone carrier that I need to be visiting their shop every few months. I don't need to be on a first-name basis with multiple employees. In fact, all I really need is for my phone to do what it's supposed to: be smart. Not a smart-mouth, as it seems to have translated its function, but a regular ol' miniature computer-in-my-hand that also makes phone calls.
Remember simpler days? When phones were phones and they weren't capable of composing text messages in gibberish, dialing someone on the other side of the galaxy, and generally tap-dancing your notions of submissive technology into smithereens? Yeah, I miss them, too.
But I digress. I stormed through the doors of Verizon (read: calmly entered the premises while dislodging a curl from the edge of my glasses that had been whipped round by the wind) and approached the first available employee. A man by the name of Geraldo. (Not really, but this makes it more exciting.) Geraldo looked up at me. "How can I help you?"
I showed him my phone, the screen of which, not two minutes before, had been spasmodically turning cartwheels, but was now in perfect working order. "My phone doesn't work properly."
Geraldo acknowledged the phone as if to say, yes, I know this mystical device that you speak of. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Oh, what isn't the problem? It won't turn off and it won't turn on. It won't make phone calls, and calls people at random. It won't send texts, and composes gibberish to strangers. It also talks behind my back, insults me to my face, changes the radio dial, throws fits in the grocery store, and loves Justin Bieber. I want a new one."
"Mmkay," Geraldo said. "Well, we have two options. I can send you another refurbished one--"
"You mean, just like these other four have been refurbished?"
"Precisely."
"Because I'm pretty sure that Verizon defines refurbish as to repurpose one person's woes for another."
"Or you can get your contractual upgrade."
"We'll go with that."
Geraldo begins to type. "Name on the account? Password?"
This information I had, as well as a number of other tidbits that ought to have been more-than-enough to get the thing accomplished. But no. It's never as simple as that! I mean, we only live in the 21st century, and it's only the year 2012. Life's nothing if it's not a convoluted minefield of cell phone contracts and incompetent business policies.
Geraldo proceeded to ask me a multitude of questions because, of course, nothing is ever as simple as get a new phone.
"What is your blood type?"
I stared at him.
"Mother's father's father's mother's maternal grandmother's maiden name?"
You surely must be joking...
"Month of the year that the issuer of your social security number was born?"
"Septembruary," I said, fastening a glare upon his ill-shaven face. "And you know what, while we're at it, why don't I just give you my full medical history, too! And my ancestry! Why, I think I had a relative once who was a pirate who used to sail the high seas of Lake Michigan. I'm also related to Pluto. Yes, as in the planet. And I invented the cotton gin. I had a pet leviathan as a child, watched the Blarney Stone get into a fight with the Fraggle Rock over me, and I own the Guinness World Record for longest string of Shakespearean insults uttered in a single breath!"
"Pluto's not a planet any more," Geraldo said without emotion.
"And I suppose my name's not Aimee, either! I just want a new phone!"
He stared at me dispassionately. "Then I'll just need..."
"Yes, yes, yes. The whole freakin' world history, size 12, Times New Roman, double-spaced--"
"Actually, Verizon Wireless prefers single."
Thus, I left the building without a new phone.
Okay, confession: That's not exactly how the conversation went down, verbatim. But let's just say that after tomorrow, once I've jumped through a few more needless hoops due to the nature of our account being "business" and not "personal," I shall be well on my way to being dispossessed of my schizophrenic Droid... and firmly ensconced in the land of the iPhone.
