April 13, 2010

Mosquito Bites and the Loaner

I have yet to join the smart phone revolution. Revolution may be too strong a word as it seems to be commonly accepted as the intelligent evolution by most. Alas, I'm a bit too cheap to stomach the monthly data fees and I've yet to be in public with the uncontrollable urge to Google something.

My phone company desperately wants me to get a smart phone, which is why they constantly have "deals" that "let" me "buy" a smart phone whenever I want. I wasn't aware the choice to purchase is what makes something a steal but by god it is!

My horrid stupid phone? Lesser phone? Data challenged call maker? Whatever. My non-smart phone died inexplicably after about 8 months in my pocket. When I requested a replacement at the store I was told that my phone was no longer carried in the region and that I could either wait 5 days to receive in the mail a phone that worked or I could take advantage of the current deal to buy a smart phone.

I told the poor schlep with the cubic zirconium earring behind the counter that waiting 5 days wasn't acceptable. I told him I wanted a phone today. In situations like this I love pressing for the imaginary Option C. I know for a fact he cannot give it to me, let alone even fathom the possibility of Option C. It'd be like going to a nuclear disarmament meeting with Iran and debating the following three options:

  • Option A: Stop making nukes
  • Option B: Keep nukes
  • Option C: Replace nuclear program with 10 Prius Hybrids!!!

Mr. Cubic Zirconium, CZ for short, reminded me of the smart phone deal. I'm curious if he thought I had forgotten already?

Again, I told him I didn't want a smart phone. I re-iterated that I needed a phone of the free replacement varietal. He repeated himself again, which led me to believe I'd broken him. I escalated our conflict and requested the manager.

The slick dude who emerged completely embodied the used car dealer of the 21st century that all cell phone dealers are. Slacks with an ill-fitting white dress shirt barely tucked in, the requisite goatee to offset his 22 years of age, and a gigantic phone strapped to his waist in the same place Dirty Harry would strap a .45.

The manager and I shook hands like equals. I explained my situation. He told me I had two options. Again?

Apparently my fate had been settled at a very high level and this was not going to change. It's like when a sniper in Kabul needs confirmation from a general in Arkansas before he can take the shot. I didn't have time to take my claim to the top, so I threw him a curve ball by repealing my previous stance and inquiring about a Droid.

I gave him roughly 45 seconds to tell me about the Droid's QWERTY keyboard, which is great if you lack the dexterity to use the touchscreen it comes with. He also showed me this great "speak in" GPS navigation device. I've been known to randomly shout "vietnamese food, san jose, california" into my phone. With the Droid it actually DOES something!!!

This confused him momentarily and presented me with an opening for my final riposte. I did a complete 180 and stated "I need a phone today." For only a second he looked at me, as if to say, "I thought we were going to be Droid bros. Bro."

He then cocked his eyebrow of inquisition and asked me if a temporary loaner from the back would suffice until my replacement arrived in the mail. It would! A few minutes later he returned from the back empty handed. It seemed the loaner had been loaned.

Desperate, he knocked over the charity phone donation box, dropped to his knees, and began sifting for a functional phone. I lorded over him and drank his sorrow.

He eventually presented me with with a personal toasting/call making device called the enV3. I'm pretty sure they are trying to subliminally make me envious of this, perhaps others envious of me. Unless you're in the market for something that makes golden brown sour dough rolls you can take your envy elsewhere. To be honest it's a pretty crappy toaster too.

When they cleared this phone of data for me I assumed they cleared it. When the SWAT team goes in they don't shout "Maybe clear! There could be bad guys!" They are typically pretty confident with the shouting. Luckily for me in this case my loaner was filled with 148 images from its previous handler.

Like Smeagol clutching the preciousth I ran to my car to view my treasures. My heart raced after the very first picture. A lady? Delightful. My girlfriend eyed me like a bored parent, as if she knew the outcome before it emerged. I just knew there'd be some hilarious naked photo, something like those things discussed on Texts from Last Night.

It was not to be.

Instead, I was treated to dozens of pictures of her having her hair dyed (yes, save this for all time woman!), a grotesque close-up of a mosquito bite on her calf, and a plethora of self-absorbed Craigslist ad photos. She wasn't even that good looking!

Perhaps that weasel of a manager did win....

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