Daily Blague

Last Thursday night, I lost my Razr phone. It slipped out of a pocket at some point when I was carrying rather than wearing my jacket. I learned the hard way that Razr phones belong in pants pockets. I had to pay full price for the replacement, on Saturday. Let that be a lesson! I also signed up for insurance.

The moment the phone's disappearance was noted, everybody I ran into had a story about what a nightmare the Cingular store is, at least in terms of waiting to be served. You write your name on a sheet of paper, and when all the names above yours have been crossed off, it's your turn. Arriving right after the store opened on Saturday morning, I was, unfortunately, the third customer in a shop with two assistants. I had to listen to a New Yorker of a certain type, about my age, as he prolonged his sojourn at the counter with questions that almost seemed idle (such as "How does that call-waiting thing work? What button do I push?" I wish I'd overheard the answer, but still, there's a manual). The curious thing was that the guy didn't really listen to the polite-given answers; he was too obviously busy framing his next question. When the transactions was done and the receipt had been signed - and did I say that the transaction was over - he loudly observed that many of his friends swear by Verizon and insist that it's the better service/network: what did the clerk have to say to that? I almost threw up my hands.

Irritating as this was, it wasn't as bad as the monstrous tyke who on Friday afternoon had been doing a very good imitation of the kid in the Chas Addams cartoon who's alone with his chemistry set for a dozen panels. I'd dropped in on my way home, thinking that maybe I could take care of my phone problem quickly. There were only two people ahead of me on the list, but nothing happened at all for about fifteen minutes. Then I decided to be an early bird the next day. It wasn't so much the kid who got on my nerves; I was afraid that I might assault his mother, who seemed very proud of her little darling, only cooing ineffectual admonitions whenever he went into barking mode. She was the sort of dame who specifies that she dropped her phone "in France."

On Saturday, I was out of the store forty-five minutes after the clerk murmured an answer to the Cingular vs Verizon challenge. Everything was fine until this morning, when I noticed a message about an "invalid battery." I didn't like that at all. Walking down 86th Street just as it was beginning to sprinkle - never has the day after Labor Day made it quite so clear that summer has come to an end - I peered into the Cingular store, and there didn't seem to be any customers at all. I was taken care of immediately. The clerk took out the battery, put it back in, and restarted the phone. That did the trick. If I was in the shop for two minutes, I'd be surprised to know it.