charge!

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.”