I
read the next name from the list.
“Susan?”
“Hi!”
the sweet-looking woman responds. Her salt-and-pepper wavy locks bounce around
a contagious smile.
“How can I help you today?”
“Ah, it’s this screwy phone. I swear I’m terrible with
these things. I charge it on its charger and I still don’t have any more
battery bar thingies when I get up the next day.”
“Okay, that sounds familiar. May I take a look?”
“Of course, sweetie.”
“It appears to be charged now though, yes?”
“Oh yes, it charges in my car just fine. Oh, and here!” she remembers something in her
bag, “I brought the charger from home too!”
“Excellent. Thank
you so much for doing that. You’d be
surprised how many people forget that something like this can help in the
troubleshooting process.”
“Oh, I’m sure you get all kinds in here.”
“m-hm. Let’s see
what we’ve got.”
I plug in the phone and charger to the wall socket
behind me. The battery bars blink once before beginning their ascent-and-empty
routine. One bar, two bar, three bar,
blank. One bar, two bar, three bar, blank.
I turn to Susan.
“When you plug it in at home, do you see the battery
bars going up over and over again?”
“What?”
“Here,” I invite her around the counter to look at the
phone as I continue monitoring its progress.
“Oh, no, they never do that at home.”
“Ah, interesting.
And you definitely have looked right here in the corner to see where
this icon is doing its little dance?”
“Yes, my friend Geoffrey has the same phone and he told
me to look there for that.”
“Okay, so it appears to be charging now, right?”
“Oh yay, thank you! You are my hero! What did you do?”
“Well, Susan, I just…plugged it in.”
“What?”
“Let me ask you another question. The plug you typically use to plug in your
phone at home, is it a plug you commonly use?”
“Of course. I try
it in plugs all over the house! It’s
something wrong with the charger, right?”
Well, see, I don’t think so because the charger seems to
be working here and we’ve been watching it for a couple of minutes now.”
“But I don’t understand, is it the phone?”
“I don’t think it’s the phone because you said it
charges in your car and it appears to be charging as we speak.”
“Is it the battery?”
“Again, I really don’t think that’s the issue here
because the variable seems to be something at home.”
She shakes her head to ward off the logic flying toward
it.
“No, no, no.
Can’t you just give me a new charger?”
“I could give
you a new charger, but I’d hate to see you back here with the same problem next
week. This one you brought in still
seems to be doing the job just fine.”
Her eyes close, her head is still deftly avoiding the
onslaught.
“So……so…..what are you saying?”
She looks up and the smile and bounce have been replaced
with strict schoolmistress intensity.
“Okay, so the phone doesn’t always charge. But it charges in the car on the charger you
have there. It charges on this charger
that you brought in here. That’s the
same charger that you use at home, but when you’re there, it doesn’t work. This
is why I was making sure that the plug you were trying worked for other
appliances. It sounds to me like the
isolated variable is your electrical setup at home.”
I cautiously add the last line. It’s the attempt to
return some levity to our interaction and simultaneously further explain what I
have yet to get across thus far.
Her sanity meter goes from three bars to blank.
“What…WHAT?” She violently shakes her head in the denial
of tragic news. She looks around the
room for help. “WHAT? GIVE ME MY
CHARGER!”
I
hand her the charger.
“AND
MY PHONE!”
Ditto
the phone.
“I….I…I
can’t believe what you’re saying. What,
that I have no electricity? That I live
in a shack? YES, that’s it. I LIVE IN A SHACK.”
She
backs up toward the door to show me the storm of rage she is capable of
creating in her eyes. She spins to
the door, throws it open, pauses and turns around to a now captive audience.
“I
LIVE IN A SHACK IN AFRICA!!!”
She
marches out in the direction of the parking structure.
Eight
coworkers and thirty customers look in my direction as I have no choice but to give
the I’m-a-dummy shrug and get back to work. Most of the room thinks that I clearly
did something wrong. Shit, I’m wondering
what I did wrong! My head is dizzy and I can’t help but think I let that
interaction get out of control. I tried way too hard to get to the root of the
problem. Any of my coworkers with half a brain (some being equipped with
exactly that), would have sent her off with the number to the warranty center
where she could have a replacement phone ordered. Never mind, if that isn’t the
actual solution, get her out of here and get onto the next sale. And wait, AFRICA?? All right, shake it off. I’m about to
read the next name from the list when I see those angry locks bouncing back
toward the door. Forty pairs of eyes now face the entrance. Susan swings it open
again, attempts to gain her composure, and enters, hand out, eyes closed, nose
up, ticket offered:
“You
forgot to validate my parking.”
