September 25, 2003 03:54 PM
2. Ring-a-Ding-Ding, Have I Got a Cell for You

Okay, so, something tells me I might have gotten off on the wrong foot the first time out. You know it’s always a bad sign when you begin the wedding march on your left foot, but, then, it’s almost always too late to go back. So, rather than bandage those toes I might have stepped on (of this, I have no proof, I just like to believe in the power of my words over others’ self-esteem) I’ll just move onward. First, let me introduce myself. My name is Rob. I’m a college student, a video store sales floor manager, the president of a pseudo-functional-defunct film troupe, and no, I don’t need a new cell phone.

Fuck. I hate that shit. You’re having a mild mannered day, nothing extraordinary is going on— either positive or negative— and inexplicably your life is interrupted by the loud and obnoxious sales pitch of a beefed up, no necked former High School Jock behind the AT&T Wireless sales counter. Suddenly, no matter how hard you try, you’re sucked into some sort of force field, pulled closer by the tractor beam of his I’ll kick your ass stare.

“Hey, how you doin’ man? You got a cell phone?!”

Um, yes.

“Oh, yeah, with who?”

Uh. Cingular.

“Cingular?! Ah, no, man! That’s the worst! What you need is—“

And he’s off and running his mouth faster than the Flash on crack. He’s going supernova with all the great deals (no long distance! free nights and weekends! blowjobs, a date with his sister! buy something fucker!). And my ears start to bleed. I’m trapped in a miniature, badly lit hell and this punk is my torturer. To make matters worse, he pretends that he’s my friend. He wears a hangman’s mask painted with a wide, toothless grin. No matter how hard I try to explain that I’ve got a phone, I don’t need another one, I get all the same shit, I don’t care whether or not I’ll save $.35 a month, I just want to make it out alive without sacrificing my first born child, the fucker never gives up. I’ve got to give it to them; they don’t stop until one of us dead. Sadly, I can’t be the one to put them six feet under. There are laws, you know.

That’s when it happens. When he’s got the noose around my neck, because suddenly I start seeing things his way, and my wallet is out and open. If buying my life for $49.95 a month is what it costs, fine, just let me go. Let my people go! And then, fuck, I realize that it won’t matter. This kid doesn’t work everyday. He’s not at every kiosk in every mall. There are men and boys just like him, waiting to take the rest of my money, to suck me dry, to eat the last morsel off my bones and then beat each other with them like in that opening scene from 2001. None of these other salesmen will know I sold my soul to him, they’ll want more of it, and if there is no more, they’ll want... oh, lord, it’s too painful to imagine. So, no, this can’t be the way. Death and two cell phones or... or... what?

It hit me, then. The one line, the one gram of truth that might counterbalance the noose: I’m on a two year plan, and I can’t get out. Being satisfied with your carrier doesn’t matter. Not needing a camera in your phone is unimportant. The fact that you don’t give a rat’s ass about faceplates is just a statement for your lack of social mores, rather than being its own brand of individuality. But, if one has signed a contract, which, as Webster’s defines as unbreakable, there is not a whit they can do. They understand that coda. Now, you’re speaking their language. That’s what they live for, more than your money they want that contract; the longer the better. It’s not like being a Mormon; one partner here is all that is required.

The noose disappears.

The wallet is safely tucked away in your pocket.

And he sends you on your way.

You’re free.

Until the next time you walk through the mall.

This, as it happens for me, is nearly every day. You see, I work at a little store called Suncoast Motion Picture Company, a sister store to Sam Goody. Formerly owned by Best Buy, the fuckers who stole our membership card and our distribution center... but not our selection or quality of employee! Ahem! I digress...

Having a job in the mall means that every time I go to work, leave work, or take a break, etc., etc., I am bombarded by these shitheads with headgear. They’re too lazy to answer the phone with their hands, I guess. I can’t escape them. Not without first quitting my job. This is certainly out of the question. I have car payments, baby. Mustangs don’t buy themselves. Thus, even with this fool-proof plan:

“BUY MY PHONE!”

CONTRACT! CONTRACT!

I’m still forced to run for the hills. Well, walk briskly for the nearest exit. I don’t run, especially not around hilly areas. It’s a lifestyle choice. Don’t you judge me.

Nonetheless. I don’t mind being sold something, as long as it’s something I feel that I need. And, so long as I’m not being yelled at by a baboon in Polo, fearing for my life. After all, I sell things to people every day. Replay cards, gift certificates, reservations, special orders, EW and Netflix subscriptions... but, I believe in these products as best I can, and I try to gauge the customers for their preferences. I know, for a fact, these AT&T troglodytes don’t care about me or their phones. They want the commission they get from my contract. The bastards would sell me a used toilet bowl plunger if they could get a 15% cut of the profits.

I suppose I can’t judge them any more than you can judge me, though. They’re just doing their job. But... fuck. Yeah, fuck that. If they had any scruples, any sense of the societal or cultural or daily psychological impact they were creating, they would quit and find a job less degrading to all involved. I have to blame them. They are the face of the faceless corporation. Without them, AT&T and all others like AT&T couldn’t exist or succeed, and vice versa. But, I can’t throw the phones back at the CEO or COO of the company.

On the other hand, I can throw one at the jerk behind the counter. Of course, if I do, I’ll have to thoroughly reevaluate my decision not to run. Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe I just need another phone.

With a camera.

Voice activated dialing.

And free nights and weekends.

No roaming, even if I go to Japan.

You know, come to think of it, I really wouldn’t mind a blowjob. Doesn’t even need to be a woman... Ahem.

Posted at 03:54 PM | Comments? (528)