There’s no “I” in Verizon. Oh, wait, Yes there is.
tweet thisI’m going to tell you why I believe in karma: chewing gum.
I have never, believe me, ever been one to litter. I don’t like it. I find it tacky, low-class, and uneducated of people to throw trash along streets, highways, and front yards. I’m sure some of this has to do with the near religious obsession U.L. and I had with his own front yard, when I was growing up. The first beer can I ever saw was face-down in his bed of calla lilies, the ones that sat out near the end of the driveway.
People threw trash in the yard, all the time. It wears on you. It reeks, of refuse and disrespect.
So, I grew up hating the idea of natural beauty being marred by discarded McDonald’s bags and the occasional Budweiser can.
But, sometimes though the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, a strong wind can come along and blow it a few feet further down the orchard.
That has happened to me, recently, I’m afraid. And ever since, karma hasn’t left me alone.
Six days ago, to be exact, in some terrible lapse of personal judgment, I rolled down my window and threw my gum out of it. Just like that. Like I didn’t know any better.
Five days ago, as I was walking to my afternoon class, I stepped in a fat, fresh wad of pink-hued Bubble Yum. I am still regretting it, even though I reasoned, as you probably will, that it was no less than I deserved.
It’s gotten worse, though.
Chewing gum has now given way to my cell phone. Which I have come to hate with the burning passion of a thousand flaming suns…and not just for its proclivity for butt-dialing.
Further, I’m afraid it’s warranted.
You see, this past weekend I flat-out told my phone, to its interface, that I hated its guts. (And I do; we’ve had a torrid past as of late).
It rebelled by shutting off. Turning back on. Freezing up. Shutting off, again. Rebooting itself, and so forth. I reached such a pinnacle of absolute disgust that I did the unthinkable: I went to the Verizon store and waited my turn.
Just me and my Blackberry Storm.
For over an hour. In the Verizon store, have I said that part?
This is the second thing I hate. Not just waiting, mind you, that’s bad enough, but waiting in the Verizon store, and let me tell you why. I have come to the conclusion that the majority of people who are Verizon customers are a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
Myself included.
When my turn to speak finally came, I’d been standing behind the woman with a hundred children, thirty-two of which she brought inside with her, I believe the other sixty-eight were in the Chevy Caprice Classic with the illegally tinted windows (something a student of mine was ticketed for, I learned, earlier this semester). Oh, how they enjoyed the store! I can only assume she held the largest number of private shares of stock in Verizon as her children, her little loud kiddies, were given free run of the floor. They picked up every item from car chargers to silicone phone covers and hid them elsewhere in the store, pretending they were Easter eggs (what is this residual obsession with Easter, this year?), or my favorite, as every toddler is a turncoat-in-waiting, where one child decides, suddenly, that what every other child is holding is what he/she was supposed to hold.
Thus, tears are shed. Yanked. Pulled. Slapped. Dropped. Yelled. Hollered.
And, of course, most importantly. Ignored.
I was, I swear, an inch away from scolding them, myself. But I feared that, as in most families, maternal tolerance has a threshold that only runs blood deep. Should I have intervened, they would have formed a pack mentality, and attacked me. Even though I know she had to feel the same as I did. She would punish them, accordingly, though; not me.
I could respect that, but just barely. (I’ve been with my nephews before when they were out of control, and I’m not sure I would have stopped a stranger from jerking a knot in them, personally).
After she and her mighty clan exited, I stepped up to the counter and explained my problem. Below is a transcript of this exchange.
HIM: “So, what’s the problem?”
ME: “My phone. It won’t do what I tell it to.”
HIM: “Ah, issues with the Voice Activiation?”
ME: “What?”
HIM: “The Voice Activation, it’s not responding?”
ME: “Oh, no, no, I don’t even know about that. I don’t use that.”
HIM: “Oh. Ok.”
ME: “I just mean, the phone, the whole thing isn’t working. No Internet, no—“
HIM: “Whoa. No Internet? You can’t get the Internet on it?”
ME: “Uh, no, not anymore. It stopped—“
HIM: “When did it stop?”
ME: “Day before yesterday.”
HIM: “That is not good, that is not good, not with a Storm.”
ME: “Right. Well, I need…can you fix it?”
HIM: “Oh, I bet I can. Let me see.”
He then proceeded to take the entire phone apart. We waited for five minutes. Then, he put the entire phone back together. We waited again. He turned the phone on. We waited some more.
The phone then worked. I was elated…mostly because I’ve spent a good deal of money on this stupid phone and I expect it to do what it’s made to do.
But then, along came karma.
As he said, “ ‘Cause these here, these Storms, they’re top of the line, they’re good and they need to…shoot, hold on a second, please….”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his own personal Storm (no pun intended), held it up to his ear and said, “It’s not me, I didn’t mean to call you. It’s this phone. I don’t need anything. Talk to you later.”
“Sorry,” he said, “My phone keeps dialing my Mom.”
“It’s fine,” I replied, smiling, “I know just how you feel.”
The service was free, so I left after it was fixed thinking, It’s a real shame that they don’t sell gum here.
A real shame, indeed.
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