As I mentioned, 2007 brought many other things beyond new cat genitalia. In the second week of the year, the computer guys and the phone guys held hands on stage and promised to revolutionize the way we saw cell phones. They took a shot across the bow of every other smart phone manufacturer and promised the nerds, “you will levitate!” They announced the A-phone.
Almost six months before it was scheduled to be released, the word was out. People began plotting a way to get their A-phones without waiting in line, without co-mingling with the masses, without following the rules.
“Can you hold one for me?” No. “But it’s me!” Sorry.
One week before the actually launch, I get a phone call at the store:
“Hi, Jason, this is Francine Jones, assistant to Nicolas Cage.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I just wanted to make sure the four A-phones I ordered are still on hold for the Nicolas Cage Family to get on launch day. Actually, dear, if we could get them before launch day, that would be even better, but if we have to wait until launch day, I totally understand.”
“Excuse me, ma’am. With whom had you spoken about this?”
“With Alex.”
Alex. Of course. Alex was the reason I had to look up the word ‘smarmy’ one time; a customer had pulled me aside and described him as such. If ever there was an individual who lacked actual emotion, but felt they needed to project it, it was Alex. Alex was also quick to over-promise and under-deliver. The prospect of helping out the Nicolas Cage Family was probably too enticing for him to pass up.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you were misinformed. We can’t hold the phones for anybody.”
“WHAT?!? Ooooh Noooo, that’s NOT what we had discussed. Let me talk to Alex.”
“Alex is not here right now.”
“Then let me talk to a manager.”
Morbid curiosity wanted to see where this would go. I felt like fielding this one. Besides, had I put Cock Bombay on the phone, Francine would have burst. That’s not to say she wasn’t about to with me, but I was feeling safe on the other side of the phone line.
“I am the manager, ma’am.”
“Okay, fine. Well, I spoke with Alex and he ASSURED me that you would be able to put four phones aside for the Nicolas Cage Family.”
“Ma’am,” I grow more quiet as she gets increasingly loud--a trick I learned from an ex-marine of all people, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but even the executives for both companies releasing the A-phone have to wait in line. We’re only selling one per person, per visit. First come, first served.”
“You don’t understand,” her volume now matching her condescension as she deliberately articulates, “This. Is. For. The. Nicolas. Cage. Family. You don’t really expect them to wait in line, do you?”
Practically whispering, “I assure you, ma’am, I do understand, but you need to know that we are not able to make exceptions for anybody. Those are the rules.”
“What!?! I can hardly hear you, SPEAK UP! Can you help me or not?!?”
“The answer is no, ma’am. No one can help you with this.”
“Unbelievable. Un-be-liev-a-ble!” And then the exchange that I will never forget as long as I live. “Do you really want to leave a sour taste in Nicolas Cage’s mouth?!?”
“Ma’am, I’m not interested in leaving any kind of taste in Nicolas Cage’s mouth.”
Click.
