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.”

Brooklyn Roads

"Which one of us?" I ask.
"Oh...um...Brooklyn."

Brooklyn looks at me with a what did I do now? and I shrug back with a beats me.

Brooklyn locks his computer screen and heads back to the already crowded corner office.  The Assistant Manager stays at his station.  He looks over at me with an apologetic look, reaches below the counter and holds a pose long enough to power down Brooklyn's computer.

I should be angry enough to yell.  I should be pissed that these guys are getting the best of a better guy.  At the very least I should be outraged by the fact that Brooklyn is escaping before me.  I feel nothing.  If anything, I'm pissed that I'm not more upset.

There is no anger where there is no surprise.  I don't have the facts, but I don't need them.  I know he didn't steal anything, was never late and he hit his numbers.  So maybe a customer had enough with his sarcasm, that becomes a manager's call.  Maybe Brooklyn talked back to Cock Bombay one too many times, still not an automatic termination.  Whatever he's in there for, I'm sure it's a judgement call by Cock Bombay and the Bobble Head and I'm sure the call is "execution." Whatever, I'm pretty sure Brooklyn can handle this.  He's a tough guy.

The Assistant Manager logs in to Brooklyn's computer with his own code and informs me he'll be finishing out the rest of Brooklyn's shift.  I nod, knowing that he'll be asking me for help and I'll be listening to him squirm to respond to customer curve balls.  The door in the corner opens and stays open.  A Union representative walks out first, with a clipboard and tote bag.  Brooklyn follows.  His face is red.  Shit.

With all the fantasizing we've done about leaving this place, this is not the way it was supposed to happen.  The ignominy of being fired shows in Brooklyn's eyes as they blink away the shock and the pain.  I feel a lump in my throat and find it hard to swallow.  I try to make eye contact but it doesn't last long before Brooklyn shakes his head and walks out the front door.  I make an attempt to clear my throat and my body exhales with a shudder.  There is a line of oblivious customers waiting to be helped.  Fearing "customer avoidance" could be my final act of insubordination, I know I can't take a break right now.  My voice cracks a little as I read the next name from the list.

I don't know where my friend has gone.  I don't know why he had to go.  Given Cock Bombay's enigmatic tendencies, I doubt Brooklyn knows too much about what just happened.  The only thing either of us knows for sure is that I'm buying him a beer at six o' clock.

A New Toy

Antonio Gold stops in on another of his 'just seeing what's new' tours and takes a look at the new 'toys.' He is infatuated by Android phones but I won't let him get one.  Too much has been invested in Blackberry instruction and, since he won't touch the A-phone, there really is no obvious, easy new device.  Still, he is insistent.

"Ees just a toy.  Maybe I take it home, play with it, see if it works.  If not, I bring it back."
"Okay, but you know we have to charge you the restocking fee."
"Ees okay, I'll talk to the Bombay when I get back.  My buddy."
He winks at me and Brooklyn before returning to the new toy in his hand.  He has no idea what to do with the home screen, so he just turns it over and looks at the back.
"A good cámerá?"
"Yes, very good," I reply, picturing the countless sidewalk shots I'll have to delete when he returns this thing.  "But there's no upgrade on your account."
"Check the other lines." He waves his hand with his new phone-cum-magic wand.
"I have checked the other lines."
"See what you can do."

It's been seven years of seeing what I can do with Antonio Gold.

"No lines are eligible for upgrade.  I can extend one contract, but there won't be a discount."
"What's the rebate?" he asks.
"$100."
"Plus the rebate I got for this," he pats the Blackberry in his holster, "and my son's phone, it's almost free!"
Once he leads himself down this path of delusion, there's no sense in bringing him back.  He uses the same logic of magical extra rebates every time.  Rebates that repopulate like the loaves and the fishes are reused in his mind to justify the next purchase.  Never mind that they don't bring the $500 phone anywhere close to 'free.'  He doesn't care about the deal as much as he cares about trying to get it.  He'll reuse this rebate to justify his next 'toy' as well.

I run his card for almost six bills and he goes over the transaction again.
"So I got the phone," he taps an empty pocket. "Where is it?"
"Here," I respond "I just moved all your contacts over."
"Okay, I got the phone.  You are sending me the rebate.  When I get it, I'll bring it in and we'll see what's new.  With that, the last rebate, my son's phone....ees like half off."

I say nothing to correct the math and finish filling out the impossible rebate form.  I slice off the proof-of-purchase, fill out every last box, affix a duplicate receipt, grab an envelope, address it to the tiny P.O. box in Minnesota and hand it to Antonio Gold.

"All you have to do is put a stamp on it and put it in the mail.  They'll wait 2 months to make sure you haven't returned the phone and then they'll send you your hundred dollar gift card."

It's a really bad deal, but there's no stopping him.

The Assistant Manager, recognizing royalty, comes up between Brooklyn and me and reaches over the counter.  "Mister Gold, how are you?"
"Oh, you know, wife, girlfriend, just so busy!" He announces the last line to the entire store as he backs up toward the doors. He again pats his pockets before looking up to me,
"Hasta luego, Jason!"
"Adios, señor!"

The three of us watch him walk out the door.  Brooklyn and I shake our heads and look back down to our computer screens.  The Assistant Manager stays between us for a beat before quietly announcing,

"Umm...Cock Bombay needs to see you in his office."

All Ages?

I read the next name from the list.

"Marg..." oh, no.  "Margot?"

Here we go again.

Listen, I don't disagree that cell phones do some good in the world.  They provide a sense of security and people, in general, like the convenience of having one around.  But if you are of the Baby Boomer generation, or slightly younger, and you are convinced that one or both of your octogenarian parents needs a cell phone...YOU should teach them how to use it.

Our society is bad enough when it comes to how we treat our elderly.  Now, with cell phones, it has gotten worse and everyone thinks they're doing something noble.  First, you stick your parents in a home. Now, to assuage your guilt, you stick them with an impossible piece of technology and tell them to use it.  It's like kicking a baby out onto the streets but, oh, you also give them a motorcycle.

Luckily for you, there's me.

"Hi, Mrs. Lewis.  How are you today?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you.  I waited for you."
"I see that.  Thank you very much.  What brings you in this time?"
"Voicemail."
"Okay, what's going on with it."
"Well...where is it?"

The children of this generation are the most impatient teachers of technology.  "Mom, push the green button!"  "Dad, red to hang up!"  They bark these orders while their attention is always elsewhere, never taking the time to truly instruct.  Without analogy, the lessons are not understood.  I've managed hundreds of "a-ha" moments by simply explaining, "it's just like a landline in that it's always on, always ready to accept a phone call, just look at pressing the green button as picking up the receiver and pressing the red button as hanging it back up on the cradle."

Oh yeah, it helps if you never give them the option to turn it off.

"We recorded your voicemail message last week, do you remember how to access it?"
Mrs. Lewis pulls out her 3x5 cell phone cheat sheet that I've been adding to and skims with a shaky finger.
"Press and hold 1."
"Exactly.  Let's try it right here."
She presses 1, the phone starts dialing.  Voicemails start playing.  But she can't hear them.  I jump in.
"Ah, after you press and hold '1' for a couple of seconds, you'll see the screen say 'calling' and then you need to hold it up to your ear."
She points to the card, "will you write 'dialing' and then 'hold to ear' after that?"
"Of course."

Last week we recorded Mrs. Lewis' greeting.  She asked, "What should I say?"  I responded, "oh, you know, something along the lines of "Hi, it's me, leave a message."  She exuberantly recorded, "Hi, me! Leave a message!"  I almost peed myself.

We work through her voicemail, playing back messages from her children and grandchildren.  There is a sense of amazement and pure joy in watching Mrs. Lewis listen to those she loves leave her messages.  I am lucky to be able to help her do so.  We practice deleting them and I call her phone to leave some additional messages.  She gets used to seeing the voicemail icon and pressing/holding/listening to them as we go.  She seems to have a pretty firm grasp on it as she pulls out the to-learn list she had written down while at home.

"Let's see, what else?  Text messages."
"Are you planning on sending text messages?"
"Oh shoot, no!"
"Then let's put that off for a future time."
"They should have classes for these things?"
"They should.  But in the meantime, you have me."

Toward the end of my hour with Mrs. Lewis, another elderly lady circles our conversation and leans in a little closer.  I begin teaching both of them together when the second interrupts me.
"I'll let you finish with her, but can I wait for you when you're done?"
"Of course you can."

Brooklyn leans in, "No good deed..."

If this were my job, I would absolutely love it.  If I actually got paid to teach the elderly how to use their cell phones, I'd be in heaven.  Unfortunately, the same Company that uses its mouth to say "take your time with each customer" is pointing 15 fingers at metrics I need to hit by the end of the month.  Now that I'm on Final Written Warning, I cannot afford to miss a single requirement.

But, screw it.  I take my time.  If I'm going out, I'm going out with these two lovely ladies.  I finish with Mrs. Lewis, give her my schedule for next week and, knowing full-well who will respond, I read the next name on the list.

Write Up Your Alley

The next week I am ushered into Cock Bombay’s office to meet with him and an Assistant Manager who, I am informed, is present as a witness to what is about to go down.  This is rarely a good sign.

“Mr. Jason, do you recall working on the day of the June 10?” 

“I don’t know, did I?”

“You did, and do you recall taking the lunch break?”

“I usually do.”

“And you are familiar with the Code of the Business Conduct training class.”

“I take it every year.”

“On the June 10, you clocked out and continued to work on the floor.  We see here in the tapes that you stayed on the floor to help the customer while you were off the clock.  Then, you finish with the customer, you do the clock back in and you go to the back to eat your lunch.  You eat your lunch on the clock and this is absolutely a wiolation of the Code of the Business Conduct as it pertains to the time clock.  So here is the final written warning.”

It is work watching him talk his way through it.  I am relieved when he finishes and resist the urge to congratulate him on getting the words out.  I look at the paper.  Final Written Warning.  I think about all the time it must have taken to coordinate my time cards and search for my behavior on the corresponding surveillance tapes.  It's almost flattering to think that I might be worth these hours of wasted work.  It's like an outlaw seeing his "wanted" poster and pleasantly nodding at the bounty amount below.  Not bad, guys.  You really went above and beyond on this one.  The write up is signed by Cock Bombay and the Bobble Head.  I take his word for it, politely refuse to sign anywhere and take my final written warning and walk back to the sales floor.

I get it, it's against the rules to clock out, work through your lunch break, clock back in and then eat.  I've been doing this ever since our store was put on high alert for an unusual amount of Untaken Meal Breaks.  By sacrificing my well-deserved hour of penalty pay, I am now holding onto a slim sheet of paper representing all that separates me from unemployment.

No good deed...

If there weren't a continuous line of people waiting for assistance, I would gladly take my lunch break at noon, instead of waiting until after helping customers accomplish what they need to do on their lunch breaks.

No good deed...

I'm not so selfless that I wouldn't take the extra hour of pay the Company owes me in these instances.  I'd love to take their money.  Legally, I am owed that money.  It's just not worth it to me to have this store, MY store on that list of reports and in the hot seat that follows.

No good deed...YES, I KNOW BROOKLYN!  NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED!

I get back to my computer, unlock the screen and the Assistant Manager walks up to my side.
"Hey.  Sorry about that."
"Yeah, it's cool.  It's not your fault."
"But...um...one more thing we forgot to mention."
"Yeah?"
"The...uh...United Way campaign.  Did you donate to that?  We need the entire district on 100% fulfillment and there are only a couple of stores that aren't at a hund..."
"Stop."  The anger chokes my throat and I clear it.  I set my hands to the side of the keyboard, grab the counter and hold on.  I squeeze.
"Please...just...stop."
"Well, we need to get to one hundred percent participation in the store."

I look coldly, through his eyes, into his dumb skull.

"I'll do it,"  I lie, managing to keep the curse words from splattering all over his face.
"Cool, thanks."

COOL?  THANKS??

Oh yeah, man, we're totally cool.

I log into the United Way campaign portal and enter my employee number.  My suggested donation is one dollar per paycheck for the year.  I can also give a one-time payment with credit card or I can...a-ha...mail them a check.  I click the final option, print out the donation form and refresh the screen that now says "Thank you for your participation in Operation 'United' Front!"  I take a second to mutter the curse words at the computer instead.  I exit the screen and go to read the next name from the list.

Sorry, United Way, I don't think the check will make it.  You see, I've already learned a valuable lesson about good deeds today.

Harder, better, faster, stronger (Part 2)

Brooklyn has an uncomfortable way of dealing with those who complain.  I watch him with no small amount of envy as he reads the next name from the list:

"Lisa?"
"Yeah, I got a letter in the mail saying I get a free booster or something."
"Okay, do you have the letter with you?"
"No."
"Well, we need the letter in order to scan the barcode on it."
"Well I don't have it with me and I'd rather not have to go find it."
"Okay, let me just look up your address to see that they sent you one."

Oh shit, you didn't think we could do that, did you?

"Hmmm....I don't see it anywhere in the system saying that they sent you a letter."  He leans back and flaps open a newspaper from the previous week.  It's the same paper he's been 'reading' every day now.  It's the paper with either a major tragedy or an unfortunate story painted all over the front page.  He flaps it as he waits for Lisa to begin her grievances.

"I don't get any service in my house.  My neighbor got a letter saying that they get a free minicell, so why shouldn't I?"
"Uggh, did you see this?" he folds the paper and points to the catastrophe on the front page as he goes on "terrible," then a beat, "sorry, so you were saying you didn't get the letter, right?  You can still get one, but they're $200 dollars."
"I...um...no.  And I don't think I should have to spend $200 on a cell booster when I pay you guys for service I don't get."
Brooklyn nods at her silently, holding her eye contact.
"I agree."
"What?"
"I agree that you shouldn't need to spend $200 on a minicell booster in order to get service in your house."
"So, you're going to give me one for free?"
"Oh no, not at all," he opens the paper so that Lisa can once again be reminded of the death/destruction/misfortune on the front page, "I just agree that there are better ways to spend your money."
"WHAT?! What are you talking about?  I came in here to get a booster for my house so I CAN MAKE PHONE CALLS." She drives home the last few words for the hard-of-hearing imbecile she  assumes she's talking to.
"Well, see, now we're back to that $200 dollars because we can't just give 'em away.  They cost almost that much to build, so it's a very strict list that gets the letter.  I suppose there's a chance that your letter hasn't arrived yet, but I wouldn't want to get your hopes up."
"This is ridiculous.  This is SOOOO unfair."
"I know," Brooklyn leans back into his newspaper one final time and shakes his head, "and to think there were children involved."


I'm not saying it's right.  It's totally wrong.  If I didn't know the guy and the fact that he donates a generous amount of his money and time to those less fortunate, I'd say this is a callous and cynical way of using a tragedy to remind others of their blessed lives.  But people like Lisa never even see the paper in front of them, just the obstacle of a human being preventing them from doing and getting what they want.

Harder, better, faster, stronger (Part 1)

What happens when your priority is to put a network-guzzling phone into the hands of every Angeleno?  Shrinkage happens.

From the be-careful-what-you-wish-for files, come this latest unforeseen blunder.  In the race to offer the latest smart phone that a network has no business trying to support, the coverage in Los Angeles, and many cities around the nation, has shriveled up like a constricted river in a devastating drought.  The water levels have dropped so low that people have forgotten that there was a time their phones would work in parking structures, in every room in their house, in a crowded football stadium.

And this is why the phone companies don't make money.  "Wait, what?" you say, "look at my bill!?!?"  Oh trust me, they're spending all that money as soon as they can get it.  They're all in debt trying to hang on to what subscribers they have while they dump any profits into either the network or advertised lies about the network.  The companies are grasping at any claims they can find by any reporting company brave enough to publish findings.

Don't you wonder how it is that EVERY cell phone service provider's network is either the:
a) largest,
b) strongest,
c) fastest,
d) most reliable?

It's because, depending on
a) the week,
b) the markets included in the study,
c) what those words mean,
d) who is getting paid to say it,

they all are.

"Largest" could mean most cities covered.  It could also mean most people or most land.  But what good is it if the most filled-in coverage map of the country is providing service to tumbleweeds?
"Strongest" could mean any one of the other three.  It's a good vague catch-all.  "Fastest" could refer to data speeds that could also result in your call ending the fastest when you fall off the mythical 4G network.  "Most reliable" is a nice way of saying that you settled for a good, hard-working provider that could never be confused with "sexy."

My Company changes the game plan every month now, depending on what the marketing team can come up with.  I swear, if we took a year off of advertising, stopped sponsoring the Football stadiums, EVERY basketball game, music awards and parades, we could put all that money into keeping thousands of people connected to their phone calls.
But the people want those commercials telling them that they're in the right relationship.  They love to see their phone company trash the other ones, don't they? They need that confirmation bias.

If these networks are all so great, why are we spending money developing ways to get people off them?  Why are we suddenly offering a minicell that connects to your home internet instead of the cell network and creates a mini network in your own house?  Oh, better yet, and PLEASE GOD ANSWER ME THIS, why did we send letters to thousands of people saying they could get one of these minicells for FREE???  And how did we not know that they would tell their neighbors, who did NOT get a letter, that they got it for free??? AND WHY AM I IN CHARGE OF ANSWERING THESE WHINEY PEOPLE WHO DID NOT GET A LETTER AND WHO REFUSE TO PAY THE $200 TO GET ONE OF THESE MINICELLS???

If it sounds like I'm shouting, it's because I am.  I'm screaming at the top of my lungs...on the inside...while you complain about the service in your home and that your neighbor got a letter and you didn't.  I'm screaming inside because it's no use screaming at the Company and it's no use screaming at you (even if you do sounds like a petulant child).  You'll never understand as you sit there telling me "it just isn't fair."  But really, of all the aforementioned superlatives used in our marketing campaigns, we never made claims to being the fairest.

Harper Ave.

I read the next name from the list.  “Liz?”
“Ughh.” She exerts herself from the floor and crosses to where I am standing.
“I can’t believe you don’t have any chairs in here.”
“I know,” I smile, “but don’t worry.  My shift is only for another 6 hours.”

Startled by either my brazenness or the realization that she would be dealing with another human being today, Liz labors to spit out what it is that brought her all the way through our doors to the cold hard sales floor and eventually to me.  If I were a betting man, and I am, I would wager that poor Liz is here to discuss the lack of service in her home.  Usually these claims by Liz and her neighbors sound similar to one of the following:

I get, literally, no service at home.

I can’t make a phone call to save my life. (perhaps also literally)

My friends get reception on their phones when they come over and I’m 

embarrassed to say that I don’t. (you shouldn’t be, it’s not your fault)

Why am I paying for service that I can’t even use?

Los Angeles is not the most socially gracious of towns.  People don’t always greet one another upon passing and, I am loathe to admit, in place of this greeting, we are probably trying to figure out a) if we know you b) if we should know you c) if you should be categorized as friend/foe, talker/walker or hipster/homeless.  

Harper Ave has become the exception.  

On Harper Ave, as the sun begins to set and folks get home, the local citizens walk outside and chat in front of their houses.  They pace the lawn, sit on the porch, wave at one another as they pass.  The wind blows softly through the trees as the scene for Our Town takes shape and people appear to be friendly, neighborly, almost Southern.  In the evenings on Harper Ave, the people come together in a way they never have before.  They gather on the streets and meet in their yards because none of them can get any cell phone service in their houses.  So they wave at one another as they carry on with the conversation they are having through the device in their other hand.  If it weren't for our lack of coverage, they may never see one another.  Hey, when the Phone Company promised to connect you to your world, they never said how they would do it.  

My first years of convincing people they could afford a cell phone often hinged on the argument that they could save that money by getting rid of their landlines.  "Why would you want a stationary phone when you can take yours wherever you go?"  It made sense and we believed it.  I swear, cell phone reception used to happen inside buildings.  Over time, quantity has surpassed quality and The Company has begun boasting about the number of people they cover instead of how well they cover each one. 

"We cover 97% of all Americans..." boasts a poster hanging in the windows of our retail store location.  There is a confusing explanation in the fine print that could be much clearer to the average person if it simply continued, "...so long as they’re standing in the middle of the street."

Cell Phone Etiquette

It shouldn't be up to me and I realize I might be imposing my opinion where it is not wanted, but I have some observations on the subject of cell phone etiquette that I feel strongly about.  Having worked with cell phones during the decade of their Manifest Destiny, I've seen how they change people and how they change lives.  I'm not over-dramatizing that, either.  Times have changed and, to paraphrase Bob Dylan, "Oh shit! They flipped the script!"

I started thinking about this with a list of rules for cell phone etiquette, but then realized that a general guideline with some social examples might sound less didactic.  Either way, and at the risk of receiving countless who-asked-you-anyway's, I'll take a stab at starting the discussion.

The cell phone is the most socially disruptive invention of our lifetime. Sure, there's the internet.  The internet has changed the way we socialize, but where and how are you using the internet most of the time, ehh? The needle has moved and the answer is "mobile."

Other notable innovations that have changed our behavior:
The television--replaced radio as the hub of home entertainment, also changed entertainment, but we still organize most of our social life around it, not through it.
The car--replaced the mule.
The plane--replaced the hot air balloon.
The microwave--replaced...the bigger wave.

But cell phones are running away with our attention and we need to take back a little control.  In the wake of this tidal wave of technology, we have yet to come to an understanding of what is socially acceptable and how we should be using these devices.  The schools of thought are legion and they are loudly expressed all around us, every day.  As a general rule, I maintain that:

You may use your cell phone however you like, but if you are doing so in the presence of other people, you are expressing your preference to be otherwise engaged.

That is it.  Read it again.

Examples:
1) If you are texting(now a verb.  Social change: 1 point) someone "Happy New Years!! xoxo", you are telling those around you that you'd rather be ringing it in with someone else.  You are also pluralizing "year" inappropriately, but that's a different subject.

2) If you have "glow face" at a concert, play or performance in a setting that has its own spotlights that are NOT MEANT TO BE ON YOUR DEAD-EYED FACE, you're telling those on stage, that "there's something better going on down here."
         a) "Glow face" is not flattering, you radioactive zombie.
         b) When you do this, you are begging the rest of the room to look at what an asshole you are.

3) Remember ring tones?  Yeah, stop that.
         "But I customized a song for everybody in my phone!"
          Oh, so you'd rather have a dance party with that person than talk to me? Thanks, byeee!

3b) "Vibrate" and "Silent" are your friends.

Bonus rules(because I can't seem to stop):

4) Make plans and stick to them.  Too much accountability has been lost under the umbrella of “call me when you’re close” or “we’ll figure it out.”  Your word should be stronger than your signal.  Make a date, select a time, keep them both.

5) You do NOT need your phone at dinner.  "But, but!"  Nope!  Shut it.

6)  It is better to excuse yourself from the table or conversation and retreat to the restroom for a voicemail/text message check.  Gentlemen, despite recent attempts at denouncing the art of phone-checking at the urinal, I find this to be totally acceptable.  In fact, this is efficiency at its utmost.  Not only are you respecting those you left at the table, you look significantly less idiotic than when you’re either staring at the wall 12 inches in front of you or down at your own johnson.  Ladies, do your thing.

7)  Lastly, let’s all extend the grace period for a returned phone call to what it once was.  It can be a day.  Yes, I see that you called and left a message.  I'll get to it--that's called good time management.  If it's urgent, I'm sure you'll call again....and text....and post it on my wall.

Cell phones are sold as additional safety measures because that's an effective tactic.  I know, because when the adoption rate was lower, I used fear to get you to buy one.  They were specifically marketed  to make us feel safe.  The byproduct of this is that now we freak out if we don’t hear back from someone within minutes.  “Where were you, I was so scared” should not be the result of a few minutes.  99.9% of the time, no news is good news.  Relax.


One final rule of thumb (call it a hope) to illustrate my point of view.  Wouldn't it be cool if you never saw your friend's phone?  I mean, when does this need to happen?  Maybe yours goes dead and you 'need' to borrow it.  Maybe the discussion has legitimately turned to the purchase of a new device and it's time for show and tell.  Maybe a photo needs to be taken. Your friend pulls out their non-bedazzled mobile computer and you are a little surprised by it.

I think that would be cool.  I think I would like to live with people who master their technology and are not mastered by it.  I think I would like to be with those who say, so loudly with their actions, "you are important to me right now."

TANSTAAFP!

It is also at this time that I am notified that, through phone sales, training and feature attachment rates, I am to be gifted my very own A-phone.  I am cautiously excited as I read the fine print:  Because I am in the top one percent of sales reps to sell the most A-phones along with a superbly high Feature Per Opportunity number with them, I am to be given a company-owned 3rd generation refurbished A-phone for use with my company-owned phone line.  Three years and four models into offering the A-phone and they finally decide to give us some product to try out so that we can speak somewhat intelligently when we're selling them.  My place in the top tier of sales reps has earned me last year’s model...reconditioned...to be returned to The Company upon my leaving it or when I get my next phone.  This gift horse doesn't even have a mouth.

Well, why not?  I guess I should try using this phone I’ve been selling for three years.  The only reason I haven't is because to do so would have meant that I would have had to sign up for my own monthly service plan to use it.  Until now, I would have had to pay some $80 per month plus a couple hundred dollars for the phone if I wanted to use the A-phone.  And even if my coworkers and I had bought one at full price, up until this latest contest victory none of us were permitted to use the A-phones on our company-owned lines.  So it's kind of a big deal even if it shouldn't be.

The e-mail instructions read that I am to contact my direct manager to see about getting the A-phone for company use.  So let's see what my favorite person is up to.  I'm getting used to watching his hands rub his face these days and I can't seem to let another go by without witnessing him squirm.  I walk up to Cock Bombay while he is getting some air on the floor.  He is patrolling the grounds with his Assistants and I see that he is in a somewhat jovial mood.

“Mr. Bombay?”

“Mis-ter Jason.  What’s up, brother?”

“Well, I got this e-mail saying I should see you about getting that refurbished A-phone for use on my company line.  Can I get that from you?”

“Um....well....give me couple of days to figure that out.”

“A couple of days? Here, I printed out the e-mail that says you already have the phone."
I offer the sheet of paper but he does not accept, instead he closes his eyes and repeats,

“I just need couple of days to figure something out.”

“Cock Bombay, are you going to fire me?”

I can't help it.  I have to ask the most obvious question that comes to my mind.

He takes what looks like it is going to be a deep breath, but he figures out what to say before he needs the whole thing.

“Saying goes, Manager doesn’t fire the people, the people fire themselves.”  Then, perhaps mistaking my silent confusion for my wanting to hear more inspirational quips, he continues, “Also, the people don’t quit the job, they quit the boss.”

I take immediate advantage.

“I can't quit you, Cock Bombay.”

The nearby assistant manager turns bright red at the none-too-subtle reference that a guy like Cock Bombay would never catch.  There is no chance he knows any lines from Brokeback Mountain.  C.B. had once admitted to me, proudly, that he has only been to see one movie in the last four years.  He took his kids to see The Chipmunks 2: The Squeakuel...on Christmas Day.

So what is it he has to think about?  How much he's going to fire me?  I guess he's in a little bit of a pickle, given my recent behavior and how I am perceived by the clientele and corporate headquarters.  In the same week I:

1) leave work because I feel like it and a loophole in the rules allows me the opportunity,
2) receive commendation for my positivity in a nation-wide newsletter from the CEO,
3) aggressively taunt my boss,
4) join the top 1% and win the most highly sought after phone in a sales contest.

What do you do with a problem like Mr. Jason?

Thinking about it, it's the kind of duplicity that the Company should be used to by now.  This staff has learned an example from the products we sell daily:
*Employees are not guaranteed to work in all locations.  Years of service may be spotty.  Reception may be cold, infrequent and laced with sarcasm.  Much like cell phones to customers, we are the necessary evil the Company can't live without.  Sorry, Mr. Bombay, you may want to get a new employee right now, but you may have to wait a year before you're eligible to do so.  Any other questions?  Have I resolved your issue today?  Would you recommend me to your friends and family?

He goes into his office, seals the chamber and (I imagine) proceeds to rub holes into a well-worn forehead of frustration.

THE e-mail

It takes three years plus a few days more than it should have, but this launch goes off without incident.  We absolutely kill it.  The backend systems manage to continue working throughout the day and it takes us most of the 14 hours to work through the ample inventory we have.  Somehow, between pre-order day and rescheduled launch day, the system has been fixed to the way it should have been all along.  I am stunned as DOPUS responds with the agility, grace and responsiveness of a top tech company site.

I am so pleasantly surprised that I decide to write an e-mail expressing my elation.  I decide that it is to be, above all, a very positive e-mail.  I will ignore everything that has gone wrong and focus my energies in a more productive, uplifting way.  

“To whomever it is I owe such a great debt of gratitude,” I begin with the enumeration of my feats for the day and how surprised I am that transactions have gone through so seamlessly.  I conclude with my imploring to forward my e-mail to all of those deserving of its appreciation.  I talk about how great a day our store has had and that I am sure someone was put in charge of setting in motion the “magical hamster wheels” responsible for such an incredible day.  We all work open to close, but this time it feels like the blink of an eye.

I am proud of how the e-mail turns out.  It is so inspiring, I feel its spirit is exactly what is needed to infect a company that has grown so negative.  I finish reading the whimsical, positive words and I navigate my mouse to the TO: line and began adding names.  First Cock Bombay, then the Bobble Head, then The Weasel and then, why-the-hell-not, The Bulldog.  Before I can second-guess my instincts, I press “SEND.”  What's the worst that could happen?

The following day, I get an e-mail response from a technical advisor in Atlanta thanking me for taking the time to acknowledge their efforts.  Awesome!  It seems my email has been forwarded across the nation and has been making its way back in a huge way.  In fact, hundreds of e-mails come back to me, thanking me for the thanks.  Amazing how that works.

It is such a relief to be a part of such a positive movement.  I look around at my coworkers wearing their smiles and I realize how much of our souls have been missing from this place.  It has been so long since any of us have felt cause to celebrate.  This is, indeed, a momentous occasion.  Halfway through the day and those hundred e-mails, I get one from the Weasel. He asks me for my photo.  I am informed that I am to be quoted in the CEO’s blog the following month and they want a picture of me for the piece.  Everyone is responding to me about the e-mail.  Everyone but the Bobble Head and Cock Bombay, that is.  There is no response from the house-cleaners who are trying to force me out the door.  Why so silent?  Since I can't send a selfie into the VP for usage in the CEO's blog, I decide to enlist a little help from another smiling party.

I walk up to Cock Bombay.  “Hey, will you take my picture so I can send it to The Weasel?”  His head cocks and his face melts.

“Uh...sure.  Why?”

“Oh, I guess I’m going to be featured in the CEO’s blog next week and he wants my picture.”

“Oh...um....congratulations, brother!”  The words lumber out of his mouth like drunks at closing time, grabbing onto anything they can hold, stumbling passed a newly forced smile.  I see the thought process behind his beady eyes and I instantly know what is happening.  This is the face of a man who has just put in papers to write me up...to fire me.  The lack of response from both he and the Bobble Head to my initial e-mail was my first clue.  Those are the only two who would know about the write-up so far.  Watching his brain bake over this latest news further confirms my suspicions.  And, man-oh-man, is his brain working overtime.  If only there were a script he could follow to use in this scenario.  If only the Union could intervene on this labor violation of overused synapses.  If only Del Taco offered coupons for free help in figuring out this new quandary.

How would he be seen for writing up and firing the hero of the CEO’s blog?  
He tells me to get an assistant manager to take the photo and rushes into his office.  It is too late.  The paperwork is already there. 

Redefine Success

The week goes by and my co-workers put in their time, 14 hours a day at an otherwise empty store.  Contrary to the usual business traffic, there are no customers waiting in line to be helped in the week leading up to our eventual launch. There are no names to read from the list.  We are (not counting my defiantly adhering to a 40-hour week) fully-staffed from open to close and don't have a single A-phone to sell.  No one even bothers coming in to ask questions because they know the other stores will have the phones first and they can't trust The Phone Company to ever get the phones in stock.

The day after I leave early, someone complains to the Union and they show up to picket the store. It is a sorry display of four overweight, cubicle dwellers circling an imaginary point.  Really, there is no point.  More importantly to me, it is the last thing I want.  After my stand against Cock Bombay about the rules of the schedule, he and the Bobble Head can now assume that I have also called the Union to complain.  Someone else must have alerted the Union while continuing to show up for their 14 hour shift, but it sure looks like my lips were all over that whistle.  Again, the Union does more to keep me away from work as their feeble protest leaves me in an awkward position.  Now I’ll have to swing this thing around to save my job again--before I lose it for the last time.

“Bro, the heat is on,” Brooklyn grumbles.  “The heat is really on now.”

“Yeah, this is a mess.”  I pretend to re-organize an accessory shelf.  "I'd rather leave on my own terms."

Brooklyn begins whispering as he sees Cock Bombay breeze by with his phone to his ear.  “They already had it out to replace our whole store as it was.  Now it’s even worse with that stupid Union showing up.  Now, cleaning house will be priority number one following this launch.”
It's true, Bobble Head’s boss's boss, the Bulldog, is top in the West, no doubt eyeing a National promotion.  Stories like our mini revolt should not be distracting him from his third attempt at the same launch.  He should be focused on matters more crucial to the stockholders, customers, fellow executives and technology world.  A four person picket line may not make headline news, but it gets to his desk.  The call goes out and Miguel overhears The Bulldog screaming at Cock Bombay and Bobble Head in the office.  
"What the FUCK is going on down there?  A PICKET LINE?"
Well, when you say it that way, it does sound serious.
"It's only four people and it's ridiculous." Bobble Head chimes in so that Cock Bombay can't be given the opportunity to fail an attempted excuse.  Besides, there's plenty of time to throw him under the bus later.
"I don't care how ridiculous you think it looks.  Clean it up.  We're already in the news for botching this launch, we can't have a labor protest on top of that.  Not this week.  I'm coming down for this launch.  Clean it up!"
Bobble Head swallows, "We've got it figured out.  They'll be gone today and we'll have the problem solved."

When I hear this, I know who the problem is. I am officially the perfect uppity scapegoat for Cock and Bobble to use as an example for getting things under control.  It seems there is no going over their heads to get to someone who will understand.
The Union staffers appear to get tired, or hungry, and call off the circular death march at around noon.  Having done more harm than good, the group disperses to (probably) find a Chipotle.  Cock Bombay laughs into his phone as he finishes another cigarette and phone call.  In his mind, he has won.  He has put down the uprising.  He puffs his chest and swings the door wide as he reenters the store.  Smiling, he looks over at me and nods before a triumphant return to his office.

Finally, the 29th comes around and we get our A-phones.  We are ready to open early, we have a line out the door and all the Executives are present.  Cock Bombay is in a full suit, Bobble Head is looking nicely tailored and The Bulldog is shifting his gaze around the store with a couple of other henchmen looking to be acknowledged. The Bobble Head is also wearing his usual shit-eating grin as he walks up to everyone to give his pep talk.  He approaches me directly.
"Hey, Jase!  How's it going?"
"Oh, it's great.  Glad we finally get to sell some of these phones!"
"That's the spirit."
The breath behind his words oozes "I can't wait to kick your ass out of this store" while his smile lies to my face.  Then he turns to gather everyone into a circle while auditioning for his next role.

“Now let’s be prepared people!  Let’s have our manual orders on stand by.  Let’s have our physical credit card imprint machines ready to go.  We already know that DOPUS is going to go down.  Let’s not be caught off guard.”

Well, that's encouraging.  It is definitely the most earnest thing I’ve ever heard him say.  We take our stations and get ready for the doors to open. I joke around with all of the suits to gauge their responses and see how many of them know I won't be employed next week.  I can't exactly tell if their nervousness stems from faking it with me or a genuine concern about how this launch is going to go.  I let them off the hook and log in to my computer.  
I slip on the Large t-shirt that I have been handed and take note of the interesting design choices. On the front is an odd rainbow-looking...hamburger? that might be trying to look like a...globe? On the back are two words that an overpaid marketing team has finally settles upon as the Company's latest slogan: Redefine Success.

Failure to Launch (Part 3)

“Phone Company Delays Retail Sales of A-phone 4”

Due to underestimating the success of what quickly became the most productive pre-order day in Company history...I stop reading.  We are not launching on the 25th.  The Computer store will be launching on the 25th.  They would start selling online on the 25th.  The Biggest Deal mega-chain and Frequency Hut will be selling the A-phone 4 on the 25th.  We, THE PHONE COMPANY, will begin offering the A-phone 4 to customers online and at our retail locations beginning on the 29th of the month--giving everyone 96 hours to buy their’s from anyone but us.

A thousand times good grief!

I've grown somewhat accustomed to the Company letting me down and I have grown beyond surprise.  But this one hurts.  The Company, with its network-improvements-are-in-the-works-and-we’re-aware-of-the-problem-but-it’s-getting-better schtick has been going on for three years. This time, I am the liar.  This time, my integrity suffers.  I feel violated.  It was a shot to the gut.

I go outside to find Bombay still smoking. “What are we going to do about the hundreds of customers we told to show up first thing on the 25th? We’ve been saying this for over a week but now the story changes two days out?”

He takes a puff as he tries calming me down while making a swooping nod with his neck, preparing to regurgitate.  Exhaling smoke, “customer will read news.  They will know.”

I don’t know which is the more alarming subtext of that statement--that he honestly believes that everyone we told would “hear the news” or that he believes it because he admits that the Company failed on such a colossal level that it actually will be universal news.  

Oh yeah, the word is out about how big a fuck-up this is.  Don’t worry about trying to find the people you misinformed.

“I’m going home,” I informed him. “I feel sick.”

“I can’t stop you if you want to go home, but you will suffer the penalty as outlined in the attendance policy.”

“Okay, I’m going home about 30 minutes early, so that should be about a 1/4 of a point, right?”

“Full point.”

“Why’s that?”

“You are scheduled for another 4 hours.  Until the closing.”

“Oh, I just figured that since this week’s schedule wasn’t posted a week in advance, we were supposed to go by last week’s schedule.”

“Oh really!?” he affects a venomous fake laughter and stomps out his cigarette. “We are gonna talk about the Article 12 now?”

“Well, that is what it says.”

“You want to go, go.”

“How many points am I getting?”

“Schedule was out 48 hours in advance.  You get a full point.”

“The schedule can be changed 48 hours in advance.  It can’t be changed if it’s NEVER OUT.  It needs to be out a week in advance first.  Then you can change it based on unforeseen needs of the business.  And from the looks of it, we won’t be needing anyone for business anytime soon!”

We’re both mad.

“Why would I put out the schedule if I know it is going to change? Make sense? It’s stupid to put out a schedule you know is going to change.”

“That doesn’t change the way the rules are written.  You still need to furnish us with a schedule that gives us a full week’s notice.  After that, if you need to change it based on unforeseen business needs, you can do so.”

He tried this. “You knew A-phone launch was coming, you should know that there would be overtime scheduled.”

“Exactly.” I responded, feeling the anger in my neck rising to my face.  I spell it out for him.  “You can change a schedule--THAT IS POSTED--48 hours in advance due to ‘unforeseen business needs’.  A launch that we ‘knew was coming’ over a month ago is not exactly ‘unforeseen.’

“You want to go, go!”

Gone.

I stick to my guns and follow the previous week’s schedule which, fortuitously, has me off on Saturday.  Management is well aware of what I am doing.  I’m following the rules (granted, as they benefit me)...and clearly painting a larger target on my back.