Fuck Blackberry, Fuck Verizon, and Fuck your Fake Fingernails.

Jesus. What a shitshow. So last night I was throwing down some super sweet drums at band practice and I was texting at the same time on my piece of shit wrapped in plastic, my Blackberry. One minute, the phone is working fine, and the next minute, a white screen of death. I tried to reset it. No luck. I tried again. No luck. So I did what anyone from the NES generation would do (like blowing on the cartridge, because that used to fix everything) I tapped the pos on my leg and proceeded to break the fucking screen. Awesome. Now I'm phoneless. I figure, no big deal, I've got insurance on this fucker. I'll just take it in tomorrow and get it all squared away.

So I get up this morning, take my triple "S" time (shit, shower, and shave for you laymen out there), and then head to the Verizon store.

  

I figure I will be in and out within about twenty minutes. I forgot that my life often resembles an episode of Seinfeld, but way more annoying and less funny.  Just to give you a sense of how the trip went, let's break this story down hour by hour.

(Current time 10:00 A.M.)

 I arrive at the Verizon store:    

 I get to the store and I have to sign in on one of those ridiculous kiosk things, putting in my phone number and telling some dumb 18 year old blonde girl the "reason for my visit with Verizon today." No big deal, I guess. Everyone who has a cell phone (so everyone) knows that going to a cell phone store is like putting hot nails up your butt.

So I'm third in line behind two old ladies, and I figure my wait time to be about twenty minutes or so. After thirty five minutes, a different dumb 18 year old girl, this one with disgusting fake fingernails and perfume that smelled like the inside of an old lady's purse, comes up and says, "How can I help you today, sir?" I proceed to show her my broken Blackberry and tell her I need to get that shit squared away. 

Me: So I really need to get a new phone today because I'm looking for a job right now, and it's important for me to have a way to contact my potential employers.

Fake Fingernails:  (blank stare)Um...ok.

How the fuck can this mental midget find a job and I can't?

Me: So what can we do to get this taken care of?

FF:  Um...can I see your I.D.?

Me: Why do you need it? You already have my cell number and account info.

FF: Um...well....Um... You're not authorized to make changes on this account.

Me: Wait, what? It's my account.

FF: Um...Well, Yeah.

Me: So why the hell can't I make changes to it?

Fake fingernails proceeds to tell me that although it is my account, and I'm the only one on the account, I have never been listed as an administrator, so I can't make any changes. I ask her what the fuck she's talking about and she gives me some non-answer about not having the proper authority to give me the information on my own account because she can get fired if she does.

I ask her what the hell I'm supposed to do and she says I need to call my ex stepfather, who isn't even on the account anymore, but for some reason is still listed as the primary account administrator. (Mind you, he is in no way connected with my account.) Sweet. Haven't talked to him in like 6 months. This should be a fun conversation.

  

I call, he doesn't answer.

Me: So now what?

FF: Well...Um. I guess you can get a new plan.

Me: Can I keep my old number?

FF: Well (Scoff) no.

Me: Why Not?

FF: That's not how it works, sir.

By this point, I want to punch this girl in the eye.

Me: What the fuck do I do then?

FF: (blank stare)

Me: Thanks for all your great help.

(Current time 11:15)

I leave the store in a frenzy and drive to a friend's house to use his fucking phone to call my mom and try and figure out why my stepdad is still on my account. She doesn't answer.

She calls me back about twenty minutes later and tells me that she can see the account info via the computer because she and I share a plan, although our phones aren't linked because she has an international number. She tells me I am the only one on the account and that fake fingernails is a moron.  "Go back to the store," she says "And talk to the manager, not that other idiot."

My mom is fucking awesome.

So I drive all the way across town again to the phone store, again....

(Current time: 12:30)

I walk in and the same stupid blonde takes my info again and doesn't remember me from the hour before. I have to go through the entire rigmarole for the second time. After a few minutes this guy with super awesome 90's hair comes over to help me this time instead of stupid fake finger nails.

90s Hair Guy: How can I help you today, Greg?

Me: Gus.

I retell the whole story for the fourth time and show him the phone.

He tells me it's still under warranty, but because of the damage to the screen (Damn you, super strength!) the warranty is voided. Well shit. But I have insurance, right?

 Fuck no you don't, Gus, because you're a moron and you didn't get any.

90sHG: Hmm....Hmm... Well....Uh....I guess you're going to have to pay full retail on a new phone.

Me: Damn, that's shitty. How much is that, like 100 bucks?

90'sHG: What phone were you looking at?

Me: The Iphone.

90HG: (long pause) Oh.....Well.... That's gonna be a bit more than 100 bucks.

Me: Like how much more?

90HG: .........785

Me: FUCK.

  

The guy tells me the cheapest phone that has email capabilities (which I need for my job search) is $399, and really, I pay that or I'm fucked.

 I have him show me that phone, which is an absolute crapper, but at that point really, its pay out the ass for the crapper phone, or go phoneless. Reluctantly, I agree to purchase the phone. We get back over to the counter and the fun continues!

(Current time 1:15)

90sHG: (long elaborate sigh.) We unfortunately don't have any of the crapper phones in stock.

Me: FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

90's hair guy (who is being really nice to me, even though I'm super pissed) finagles my plan until he figures out a way to get me a phone at the "New Contract" price. What I have to do is so stupid, it's mind boggling.

90sHG: So what we're gonna do is open up a second line under your name and put in a dummy number, so that technically create your own family plan, and we will put the lowest data plan on the second phone, because you don't need the line anyway, and you can use that second contract to get an Iphone at the discounted "new contract" price. And you still save money for the next 15 months and then you can just cancel the second line.

Me: Well, that sounds really dumb, but ok. At least I walk out the door with a phone. How much is the Iphone with the discounted price?

90sHG: $299.

Me: I'm going to kill everyone in the store and then kill myself.

90sHG: Ha!

Me: (angry stare.)

90sHG: (blank stare.)

(Current time 2:00)

    

The Musings of a Fine Young Gentleman

So I have started a blog. I think my main function here is basically going to be taking up page space with crap that takes up my head space but really isn't going to be able to sit in a story or poem or whathaveyou. I want this to be the place where I can talk about how annoying it is when my dogs eat cat shit out of the litter box, or how much it bothers me that hipsters killed irony. Pretty much a saturation of ranty anecdotes or stories about shit I think is funny, or sad, or annoying.

So to get in the spirit of blogish things I would like to tell you about the best part of my day so far:

I went to lunch with a friend of mine today and he drove, so I saw no reason as I left my house to bring my keys, but out of force of habit, I locked the door when I left, locking myself out. Woopie. But a simple annoyance became a pretty awesome experience when I was trying to break into my own house. My house backs up to a bike path. The Path always seems to lead to some fun people watching, I.E. crazy old ladies doing super sweet lunge moves in grey track suits, or the very bizarre Mongolian man who walks and talks with his  Pomeranians (both of whom have better hair than him.)

 But today as I was climbing my back fence, I saw an epic battle ensue between to bikers riding in opposite directions on the path. In the red corner: an old dude on a ten speed with a trucker hat and a blue windbreaker that looked like one of those plastic-bag-rain-coats. In the blue corner: an aging metal guy riding a similar bike (no doubt because his license has been taken away because of a DUI) rocking the FUCK out to Slayer on a pair of small portable speakers attached to his backpack. Metal guy wasn't watching what he was doing because he was too busy being metal and rocking out, so he ended up riding right in to the path of the old guy. The old guy had to swerve off the path and into the grass where he had some highly skilled off-road moves on his ten-speed. Old guy then proceeded to turn around and yell, "God damn you, you stupid bastard!" and our metal friend turned around, pointed and laughed at geriatric windbreakermcgee. I guess somewhere in me I should find this situation sad in a what's the world coming to kind of way, but really I was just happy to see two generations of men, one young and one old hating each other over improper bike path technique. America, fuck yeah.