Sharp Corners

Got time for a cell phone story?

Good.

Last week I hustled out to the minivan first thing in the morning so Visiting Mother and I could do some power shopping. Armed with my purse, coffee, and cell phone, I was ready to hit Victoria’s Secret like the Band of Brothers on D-Day. I put my purse on the floor, the coffee in the cup holder and the phone in the ashtray next to it then ferried my kids to camp, barely slowing down at the front door ("Hey, Miss Jamie, sign the kids in for me, will ya? I’m going shopping!"…I don’t get out much).

As I drove through the parking lot I hit a pothole large enough to hide a small Masai village and coffee sloshed everywhere. I stuffed a bunch of napkins in the ashtray to mop up the mess, grabbed my stuff and went in the store. When my phone rang a while later, it smelled suspiciously like mocha frappe but I ignored it.

Imagine my surprise an hour later when the darn thing wouldn’t work at all. Gee, I wonder why? My cell phone provider had thoughtfully placed a store right around the corner so I went in and told them my phone had "suddenly stopped working for no apparent reason." The dingleweed behind the counter punched buttons for ten minutes before informing me…my phone didn’t work. NO?! Really?!?

He told me I was welcome to leave it with him for the day and they’d see what they could do about it so I asked him for a loaner in the meanwhile. You’d have thought I asked him for a spoon so I could cook some heroin at the counter. He told me they didn’t offer loaners but I was welcome to come back in a couple hours to see if they’d fixed the problem. No good, I told him, my son was sick and I needed to be reachable. I offered to just buy a new phone but he said I couldn’t do that without paying full price for it. Yep, I’ve been a customer for a long time and paid them enough money that by now i should own part of the company but nooooo…. I didn’t warrant a discount on a new phone until I’d had this one 18 months. Of course, when the person next to me told the other sales rep he wasn’t a customer, they offered him a free phone, complimentary headset, new phone charger, belt holster and free lap dances for a year at the strip joint across town.

In the meantime, Dingleweed sent the phone in back for a quick once over by the Tech-Gods. One of them came back out and said the "moisture indicators were pink" (my phone was pregnant?). I feigned surprise even though the Tech said he suddenly felt a need to visit Starbucks. He also mentioned it was beyond repair but, because I had insurance, the company would mail me out a new one and then cancel the policy because I actually used it. (It’s true.) Figuring my time was limited before they got really sick and tired of me, I decided to add another line to my account, forward my phone to the new line and let them mail me the replacement this week. Once I receive it, I’ll use my 14 day "buyer’s remorse" window and cancel the additional line.

So far, it seems to be working out. The only problem is that they gave me the coolest damn free phone to go with the new account. And I don’t want to give it back.

My mother loves to kid around, particularly when she can involve one of my kids in the joke. Occasionally, I don’t take either one of them as seriously as I ought to. I learned my lesson.

A few days ago, I ambled over to my desk chair at the ridiculous our of 5 a.m. only to find my mother and oldest son already awake. I hadn’t had coffee yet so I pretty much ignored them until something they said floated through the haze in my brain.

"You found what? WHERE?….No. Stop. It’s too early for jokes, you guys. Leave me alone. I have work to do."

In an effort to prove they weren’t teasing me, dammit if they didn’t bring me a freakin’ live bat they were holding hostage under an overturned glass. There are days it does not pay to get out of bed.

As it turned out, they’d discovered the little vampire earlier that morning (how much earlier does it get than 5 a.m., one wonders?). Hurting it was out of the question so rather than smacking it with a broom (and I’m not saying I would have), they threw a blanket over it when it landed on the floor. It must have been quite a sight to behold: a seven year old and his grandmother chasing a flying thing around a room, burrowing under a blanket, scooping it into a glass (my favorite glass!) and then staring at it until I woke up. I’m surprised they didn’t name it.

All in all, the thing was kind of cute. In a creepy, hairy, fanged kind of way.

We released it into the wild (well, our backyard) and it did what any people-fearing, flying, fruit-eating, freaky creature would do. It came back the next night. Now, you’re probably asking how we know it was the same one. The truth is, we don’t. It’s conjecture, but when you’re considering the possibility of having an attic full of guests you didn’t invite, you prefer to think it’s the same bat, over and over again. Right? Right.

Armed with a tennis racket, wooden spikes and necklaces made of garlic, J and I marched up to the attic and went a-hunting. Though there were no actual bats to be found, we did locate a little opening in a vent we suspect was knocked loose during the recent re-roofing extravaganza. As J was nailing screen over the opening, the local building inspector happened to come by for his final inspection of the new roof. I casually mentioned to him we’d found a bat and that J was in the process of securing the house from future invasions. The inspector said, "Oh. Uh-huh. Hmmmm….Well, I sure hope there’s no live ones up there. They’ll get trapped, die and stink to high heaven for months."

Thanks for that Mr. Building Inspector. Thanks for that.