Posts by Jonah

It’s sleeting and thundering and lightning.

Actual Fact: The Dutch special forces are called the Korps Commandotroepen.

I made lasagna Sunday. Berck helped by making his famous tomato sauce. I used all three of the eggs left in the carton to make the pasta. I like playing with the KitchenAid pasta maker. It’s like playing with an electric Fuzzy Pumper Barber Shop.

Then I wanted to make cookies, but we were out of eggs. So I used mayonnaise instead and left out the salt. They ended up being a different texture, very crumbly instead of chewy.

Berck refuses to eat them. He insist they taste like mayonnaise, but I think that’s only because he saw me put it in the batter. I think they’re yummy.

At the Sprint store, Natahlee finally called me over. “Now you’re here to get a new Treo?”

“No, I already got the Treo. We just added me to the account. I need to get a phone. I also need to turn in this phone for $25, for the Treo I already bought.”

Natahlee typed some things into her computer. “Now are you Michele?”

“No, I’m Joanna.” Hadn’t she just called my name?

“Oh, we need the primary account holder to add a phone. Because there’s the contract involved.”

Remember how Mallory promised that I could pick up the phone? That Michele didn’t have to go down to the Sprint store?

My voice started rising, in pitch and volume, uncontrollably as frustration and rage well up inside my body. “We just talked to customer service, and they PROMISED that I could pick it up! We made SURE!”

“Oh,” said Natahlee, “Well, that’s customer service for you.”

I pulled out my Verizon cell phone. “Calling them isn’t going to help,” warned Natahlee, backing up. “Uh, I’m gonna go check with a manager.”

I dialed Michele and told her what Natahlee had said. “WHAT? I made sure you could pick it up!”

“I know!” I replied, “I made sure you made sure!”

Natahlee returned. “Okay, the manager says we can do it this way. Is that the primary on the phone?”

I reluctantly handed Natahlee my phone. There’s something personal about cell phones, kinda like underwear and toothbrushes, things you don’t readily share. And Natahlee was holding MY phone with closely bitten fingernails and speaking into it with stale cigarette breath.

After sorting that out, I got to pick out a phone. “So you want a Treo?” said Natahlee. She just wasn’t getting it. “You want a camera phone?”

“Just show me your cheapest phone,” I said.

She pointed at the updated Samsung that I already have with Verizon. It’s a flip phone, which I love (I don’t like having to hit a special combination to undo the keylock). “How much is that one?”

“$10,” she said. Well, I would get $25 back for Duncan’s phone, and this one was $10. Looked like a no-brainer. I would save $15 by getting a brand, spankin’ new phone.

“I’ll get that one,” I said. “Here’s the old phone for you to credit $25.”

“Okay,” Natahlee tapped at her computer. “Hmm, I’m not finding that phone. It used to be $25. Now we don’t take it.”

“It used to be $25, like two days ago?” I said. “Because customer service told me I could get $25 for trading it in, and TWO DAYS AGO, Rachel told me I could get $25 for it!”

Natahlee shook her head. “It’s not on my list. Do you want to see my list?”

“NO I DON’T WANT TO LOOK AT YOUR LIST. I WANT SOMEONE AT SPRINT TO FOR ONCE SAY SOMETHING THAT’S TRUE!”

“Well, Rachel may have told you that, and you can talk to Rachel about it.”

“Well, is Rachel HERE?”

“No, but you can come back and talk to her.” She didn’t bother to tell me WHEN Rachel would be in.

Steam must have been coming out of my ears. I was furious. I wasn’t on speaking terms with Natahlee at this point, otherwise I might have asked what the heck was the matter. It’s possible that I was making Natahlee nervous by standing there fuming, or it’s possible that I was emitting bad energy, because for the next HALF HOUR, Natahlee moved her trackball and tapped at her keyboard, and her computer just kept crashing.

Finally, she turned to the guy at the computer next to her and said, “I quoted this phone to her at $10, but it’s $20.”

“$10 it is,” said the guy.

So here’s this fellow, in this obvious position of authority, he must have noticed that this woman on the other side of the counter is obviously upset at the service she is not receiving. And yet he does nothing about it? What are managers for, anyway? Just knock $10 off a product because, yet again, their employee can’t get her facts straight?

Thus ended my Sprint adventure. I walked out with both phones. I don’t think I’ll be returning to demand my $25 from Rachel. She lied to me once. She can lie to me again. Besides, Duncan had mentioned something about keeping the old phone around as a spare.

Now, the girl who never wanted to have a cell phone has TWO. “You can put one in each pocket!” my mom says. My father-in-law just sent us his old PDA phone, so I might be using yet another one soon.

At least I only have to deal with Verizon about that one.

I left work and headed for Sprint to go get my new phone. The Interstate here has big marquee signs that warn you about traffic problems up ahead. Usually, they say something like, “CRASH AT BRIARGATE ALL LANES OPEN,” which explains that the reason you’re sitting in bumper to bumper traffic is because of onlooker lag. This day they said, “FUNERAL PROCESSION EXITS 215 – 257 CLOSED.” Actually, I have no idea which exits it said were closed, because I don’t keep track of exits by their numbers but by their road names. I could see brake lights backing up ahead, so I exited and proceeded to my long-cut that is faster to take than stopping and starting on a clogged I-25.

Except for this day. Unbeknownst to me, the funeral service had taken place at New Life Church (the biggest sanctuary in town, being a mega-church), right where my road went. In the Miata, there’s no way I can see around all the SUV’s and pickups. Too late, I realized that this six lane road had turned into a parking lot. And they put these stupid concrete dividers in the median, so there’s no way to make a U-turn until you get to the next cross street. And no one was getting there because no one could move. I was completely and utterly trapped. I kept watching the light way at the top of the next hill turn green, yellow, red, and green again and no one move.

Berck called me on the cell and said that he was trying to leave the Academy, but they blocked the gate and wouldn’t let anyone leave. How can you detain someone against their will like that, especially in a non-emergency?

I found out the next day that it was the funeral for the cop who was gunned down by this crazy guy the week before. Police from all over the country had come to the funeral. Now, I’m all in favor of mourning the dead, especially a protector of the peace in the line of duty. Here’s what I’m not in favor of:

1) Here’s a map of the area. There are only TWO roads that go north-south there: the Interstate and Voyager/Hwy 85. And the police blocked off BOTH of them. At rush hour. RUSH HOUR! There are no roads you can take to the west because the Academy is there, and they won’t let you on most of it. You’ve got to go MILES to the east to find another north-south road. I’ve done that before, and it seriously takes more than twice as long for me to get home.

2) Apparently, they had been telling people they were going to do this in the paper and on TV. I don’t get the paper, and I don’t have a TV. I do listen to the radio; I listen to the local NPR station because they’re the only station in town that plays news at the times I’m going to and coming from work. NO mention of this.

3) If you’re going to have a huge funeral procession, have it somewhere where you can actually drive around it, not the only place in town where there are only two routes, and you’ve blocked off both of them.

4) DON’T HOLD YOUR FUNERAL PROCESSION AT RUSH HOUR!!!

5) Don’t block off the INTERSTATE for a funeral procession! That’s a vital north-south corridor for this country, not just for the city or the Front Range. And it’s a federal road, too. I think it’s a violation of federal statute to block off an Interstate for a funeral procession, anyway.

So anyway, by the time I got to Sprint, my mood was NOT GOOD. The place was full of people. I gave my name and Michele’s phone number to the “host.” They have a cooler of bottled water (none of it cold…they may as well have had it in a box), so I grabbed one and gulped it down. I was very thirsty having had to sit trapped on tarmac for so long.

I looked around at the room. Three workers didn’t appear to be helping anyone or doing anything else useful. Two of them were chatting. I felt my mood get worse.

Finally, someone called my name.

Continued later: Liars don’t go to hell; they go work for Sprint.

Actual Fact: If a funeral procession were approaching and needing to cross in front of it were a police car with it’s lights and siren on, a firetruck with its lights and sirens on, an ambulance with its lights and siren on, and a mail truck, only the mail truck could legally pass in front (being a federal government vehicle).

Milton called the capital of hell Pandemonium, but I think it’s more like the DMV.

So back to our question, what is credit class two?

This is what I asked Chuck on Sprint’s customer service number. “It means you are limited to two phones,” he said. Why? “Because you’re in credit class two.” But what does that mean? How is that determined? How does one get out of “Credit Class Two”? “Uh, we don’t decide that,” said Chuck. “Sprint decides that. We’re just customer service.” Well, I thought I was calling Sprint because this is the number they give. How DO I contact Sprint? “You have to go on the website and write them an e-mail.”

So I did that. I went to sprint.com and found a place to write something. It asked for the primary phone number and password of the account. I knew both of these because I had to verify them every time I called Customer Service. (I actually had to verify them twice, because the A.B. would hang up on me each time.) But the website e-mail form wouldn’t accept them. I tried it several times, but it told me the phone number or password were incorrect. Finally, I wrote in the form for non-customers, detailing our obstacle, and demanding to know why we were being discriminated against. They wrote back pretty quickly saying they needed the phone number and password.

“That’s it,” said Michele. “I’m going to call and tell them to release us from our contract.” So she called the customer service number and fussed at several people. It went something like this: “I’m being told that we are only limited to two phones. I want to add another phone or be released from my contract. I was not told I would be limited to the number of phones on my account when I signed up for this contract; in fact, I was told I could add more phones. [Repeat all above.] I’d like to speak to a manager, please.” Repeat about five times.

Finally, she got Mallory, who said, of course she could have another phone, and she’d sign her up for a new plan cheaper than the old one.

I suppose the lesson here is persistence, threats, and a continuous appeal to a higher authority just might get you where you want.

“Jonah,” said Michele, still on the phone with Mallory, “Do we want to do this online or have you go down to the store to get your phone?”

“Will they let me do it at the store?” I asked, “Or will you have to come too?”

Michele checked with Mallory, “No, you can do it. All you need is my password.”

“Are you sure?”

Michele checked with Mallory again, “Yes, she says she’s sure you can do it without me.”

Continued Later: Liars