Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Till Cell Phone Battery Death Do We Part

There comes a time in every relationship when a decision is made to either discontinue the union, or to consummate it in the most permanent way possible. The mountain man and I decided to bound one another (no, dear reader, not with duct tape---this time!), for each of us to be bound to the other in the most legally binding way available today; I added him to my existing phone plan. For a two year contract.-- A contract Houdini would have trouble escaping from if a) he had a cell phone and b) he hadn't destroyed it while submerged in a tank upside down while in a straight jacket.

So, I agreed, in a moment of drunkeness unrequited lust, to love, honor, and obey all laws of said cell phone contract, till ungodly early termination fees do we part.
Since this penultimate decision to co-phonitat, much has happened to facilitate the progression of the mountain man/mysuestories collaboration. We have out of necessity, as many such newly joined couples, raised our sharing plan minutes. We have chosen together our "Special 10" - those "friends" who dare to have service out of our network, and who now by the grace of Verizon Wireless Deities are not counted against our allotted precious minutes.
We have even ventured together to the evil inferno that is the Verizon Wireless phone store to secure an updated cell phone for the mountain man. Note to reader: Any phone not requiring a third party operator to connect your call Ala Lily Tomlin and smaller than a bread box would qualify as an update.
So, I take the mountain man into the land of all that is glittery and geeky, and we peruse the aisles upon aisles of available phones. To say he is bewildered is akin to saying Michael Phelps can doggy paddle.
We examine flip phones, sliders, and blackberrys of endless shapes, sizes, and colors. What we cannot locate is one with a rotary dial. A salesman, who has no idea he is about to honestly earn whatever pittance of a salary he is being paid, steps into the Twilight Zone that is our humble lives.
Our salesman is excited that we are looking to expand our phone lines by one (Oh the joy!) and that we are looking for new hardware (Can I get a hallelujah!)
He brings us full circle to the front of the store, where, once again, we examine flip phones, sliders, and blackberrys of endless shapes, sizes, and colors. Our personal geek gleefully explains every whistle and bell available. On. Every. Single. Phone.
We have literally handled every individual demo available, and still mountain man looks like the rain man five minutes before Judge Wopner. Our sales geek's enthusiasm is starting to wane.
"Mountain man," I inquire, "which one do you like?"
"I don't know, mysuestories. They are all just so small."
"Um, yes, mountain man. It is a portable phone. So you can carry it with you," I explain.
At this point our sales geek is looking for the little yellow school bus parked outside.
"Mountain man, just pick one. Any one. For the love of maryjesusandjoseph. Just. Pick. One."
The mountain man turns from me to our geek and asks, "Do you have one with real big numbers on it?"
Geek looks at me. I shrug, and he turns to the mountain man and speaks slowly, as if addressing a child on the theory of quantum physics. "Er, sir, if we made them BIG, then they wouldn't fit on the little phones."
"Why are the phones so small, anyway?" mountain man asks geek boy, who by now is wondering if maybe he should rethink that college brochure his father keeps shoving at him at the dinner table.
"Sir, small is good. Everybody wants small. Nobody wants big any more."
Mountain man turns to me. "But, mysuestories, I
like big."
I patted him gently on the arm. I grabbed the nearest little phone with the biggest numbers available and told the geek we'd take it.
"You've got to compromise, mountain man, It's the 21st century, you know."
He grumbled, but agreed.
Our geek couldn't get us to the register fast enough.
"Accessories?" he asked warily?
"What kind of accessories could I possibly need with a tiny phone?" mountain man quirked.
And that's when it all went bad.
The geek said it.
He did.
He said, "Would you like a blue tooth with that phone?"
And honest to fucking Betsy, the mountain man replied," How would
you like a black eye?"

Oh, and the compromise? The mountain man now has a cell phone that rings exactly like the phone on "The I Love Lucy" show. You know. From a hundred years ago. Sigh.

Wait till I tell ya about trying to get the man out of black dress socks with sneakers and shorts....

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