Failure to Launch (Part 1)

It’s ten days before the release of the fourth A-phone and we are getting ready to take pre-orders.  The Company has learned from its first few launches and wants to make sure we offer this new phone through as many channels as possible.  Pre-orders are for the planners.  We are happy to ensure customers that if they order their phones on the 15th of the month they can expect their phones on the 25th of the month, the same day we are going to launch the phone in stores.  In fact, this is the widest release of any A-phone and all stores are prepared to launch on the 25th.  The Computer Store, the Biggest Deal chain and even the Frequency Hut are all going to carry the A-phone now.  With pre-orders, we are planning on shipping phones directly to the consumer, thereby alleviating the in-store traffic and diversifying our activation power.  Double the business, same customer service.  So far this all makes sense.

The 15th of the month comes around and it’s like launch day has been every other year.  There is a line outside the door prior to business hours and customers are excited to get in and pay whatever the cost for the phone they will curse for the following year..  We are amply staffed, wearing special t-shirts and ready to sell.  We open the doors and let the smiling (for once!) people run through a dozen at a time. We start entering the information and it doesn’t take long until, like each of the three preceding A-phone launch days, the computers begin to freeze.  Our point of sales system (the clunky DOPUS) takes the largest electronic shit on the heads of everyone working and everyone who has been patiently waiting to get in.  At 9:10am PST we know this is going to be a very long day.

Compounding with the East Coast traffic, who got a three hour head start, once the Pacific time zone joins the party, the computers are ready to break it up.  I point on the screen, click the mouse and wait 5-10 minutes for the next screen to do anything. The computers crawl along, allowing each of us maybe 3 or 4 pre-orders(usually a 10 minute transaction now taking 1 hour each) before the works shut down completely at 12:30pm.  At 4:30pm, it is announced that no more pre-orders will be taken.  The mob, following a burst of threats and some reasonable name-calling, eventually disperses.  I don’t know on what grounds, but we are even assured a lawsuit is coming.

Fail.  Again.  Four years in a row.

Capacity has been reached and once the dust finally settles, The Company has pre-ordered a record number of network-sucking, call-dropping smart phones.  The suckers, it seems, are of endless supply.  This time we are counted among them.  Brooklyn was half-right; he and I wouldn’t, but The Company would surely sell a shitload.

Let down by the Company we trusted to eventually get it right, we begin hosting the lonely receiving line of apologies.  What do we say?  

“Sorry, but you can come in on the 25th and still get the phone on the same day that everyone else can get it.”  

“No, unfortunately we can’t hold one for you, even though you’ve been waiting here for 2 hours already.”

“Yes, you’ll probably want to line-up early, again, on the 25th.”

“I’m sure we’ll get a bunch.  The Company probably banked on reserving less than half for pre-order and plenty more for the actual launch day.”  

“Because of all the pre-orders, we probably won’t even be that busy on launch day.”

“Just in case, get here right around opening, at 6am, on the 25th and you’ll get your new phone right away--possibly before those who did pre-order.”

No one is pleased.  The answer is not the one they wanted.  It further reinforces the existing Mutual Pre-Dissatisfaction and still means another trip to the dreaded Phone Store.  It still means there are no guarantees.  Instead of a solid Company response, we are handing out ‘almost positive’s and ‘they’d be crazy not to’s, asking the customer to be satisfied with that result.  I feel awful, but what can we do?  We all just got screwed by the guys who can’t lose.

Death by Jogbra

I read the next name from the list.

“Maxine.”

“Yes, I need you to call customer service for me.”

“Okay, you can use our phone right here at the end of the desk.”

“No, you talk to them.”

“Ohh-kay.  What is it that you need help with today, Maxine?”

“I don’t know, it should be in the notes.”

Sensing the frustration, and empathizing, I grab the receiver and dial the same 800 number that everyone has to dial.  There is no express route.  We spin the same Customer Service roulette wheel of ignorance when we have to call in.  I’m now at the point where I can discern inside of two sentences how new the employee on the other end is. 

"Thank you for calling the Phone Company, home of Digital Dazzle and Family Finder and..um...how can I make your day a little b..."

I hang up mid sentence so it appears we’ve been cut off and take another look at the phone.

I am, somewhat miraculously, able to squeeze some information out of dear Maxine.  Enough, anyway, to discover that her blackberry keyboard has stopped functioning correctly and that she has come in to the store so that we could help her troubleshoot the phone.  More accurately, she needs help taking off the back of the phone.  How did you DO that??? Without removing the back and checking the liquid indicator and serial number, customer service can not go through the appropriate steps required in order to send her a replacement.  

It’s been over five years since I’ve been able to replace a phone in store.  Five years ago, The Company decided that too much was being wasted in the flippant in-store exchange of phones.  An exchange-by-mail program was established to “more precisely diagnose any problems and determine the appropriate course of action.”  It was then that I began assuring my clientele that they could, in fact, live without their phone for the 2-3 days it would take them to receive their replacement.  They continue to assure me I am wrong.

Maxine is pressing the Green call key on her Blackberry and the screen says “JKJKJKJKJK”.  She is pressing the Red button and the screen says “NMNMNMNM”.  She is not pleased with this recent development.  She is also not pleased with my suggestion that her phone is “Just Kidding, Just Kidding, Just Kidding” but then, “Never Mind, Never Mind, Never Mind.”

Displeased doesn’t even begin to describe what Maxine is when I ask if her blackberry has been anywhere near any type of moisture.  

“Of course not! That’s ridiculous!”

Of course it is.  Totally ridiculous.  What am I thinking?

I pull off the back, remove the battery, check the liquid indicator for signs of change and see none.  I wasn’t really expecting too.  By the time liquid has made far enough to turn the white sticker to pick or red, the phone is usually shot.  Maxine's phone has only a keypad problem.  Which means Maxine probably tucks her phone into her Jogbra while working out and has therefore, inadvertently attempts to kill her phone by osmosis.

Since there is no evidence of liquid damage, she technically could get away with sending the phone in for a warranty exchange.  I could send her away to do it herself, but I see Cock Bombay escaping for oxygen and I pick up the receiver again.  I get through the prompts and I get to a person who sounds somewhat rational and competent.  Here we go:

“Yes, my name is Jason and I’m calling from Retail Sales Location T102.  I have a Maxine Lubitsch here with a defective blackberry.”

“Okay, Jason, I’m very sorry to hear about the trouble you and the customer are having today.  Can I get your sales ID?”

“LP187.”

“And your password.”

“Goat Milk.”

“Thank you very much Jason, please bear with me while I pull up that number in our system.  What seems to be the problem today?”

I begin, knowing what must be done to get through to someone who is following the customer-service-choose-your-own-adventure script.  “Not too much, it looks like it’s just a faulty keypad.  I’ve pulled the battery out, tried a different battery, tried my battery, tried putting my sim card in the phone, tried the application loader, tried backing up the phone, tried updating the software, tried removing the software, tried reloading the software, tried it while it was plugged into the computer, tried it while it wasn’t, tried it downstairs, down the street, outside and up the block.  Still, after all that and an hour of trying, the keypad still won’t work. It looks like we just need a new one sent out.”

I wink at Maxine.

“Okay, Jason, it certainly sounds like you’ve tried quite a bit.  Please bear with me as we do need to go through some of those trouble shooting steps on our own.”

Everything I say to this representative I have painfully learned to say from previous phone calls.  My own fellow Phone Company Coworkers on the phone have been given strict directives:  No one gets a new phone sent to them until the old one has practically been rebuilt.  We will waste man hours, but not equipment.  We will err on the side of denying claims first like a corrupt health insurance provider. 

After putting me on a brief four minute hold to consult with his computer, this one keeps going, sticking to his guns:

“Okay, so I need for Maxine to download the latest software on her computer before giving us a call back, okay?”

  Wow, this one is tough.  Maybe I sounded a little too slick in reciting my lines. He might be on to me.  But I’m not letting him off that easy. I improvise.

“She doesn’t have a computer,” I lie, shrugging at Maxine.  She’s now on my side.

“Does she have any friends with computers?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Nobody she knows has a computer?”

“Well, I didn’t want it to get to this point but since you seem to be forcing the issue, I feel obligated to tell you that Maxine doesn’t really have any friends.”

Silence on the line.  Then, stumbling, “um, well is there any sort of public computer...”

“C’mon, man.  You know as well as I do that public computers don’t let you download software from the internet.”

“She HAS to be able to get it somehow!” He insists.

“Why? It’s a physical problem with the keypad!  There’s nothing any amount of software updates will possibly fix.  We already tried reloading the entire phone!” 

Not true.

Finally, and snidely, “you know we check them when they come in to make sure they have the latest software.”  

Bullshit.

“Yes, I know.  But you can’t do that until after you’ve sent out the replacement.  So let’s get on to that part now.”

All told, about 40 minutes of work.  Two hourly employees costing the company double labor because one has been given the directive to, more or less, give the other a hard time.  The other, God help him, is earnestly trying to help the customer who, at worst, may have accidentally gotten a little boob sweat on her phone.

Enter Janice (Part 2)

Sometimes I am helping my own customer when Janice tugs on my sleeve, apologetic about disturbing me, and asks for help.  After I finish with my transaction, I assist Janice with hers and often times am asked by the client if I can take over.  

I witness Janice take over two hours to upgrade a cell phone--existing customer, just new equipment.  I notice that every time she walks away from the counter to ask a question to a coworker, the customer throws his hands up in the air in frustration.  I see normally patient people grow crazy with agitation before my eyes.  I am helpless to assist because I have numbers to hit.  Janice has 6 months before she will be penalized for missing quota.  I will get written up.  Especially now that the ‘veteran culture’ is being changed, I have to watch my ass.  I can no longer help the helpless and it doesn't feel right.  I have to make what money there is and help as many customers who are waiting in line.

I take my lunch break around the same time Janice is taking her first 15 min break(of many).  In the hallway-cum-breakroom in the back, there is a graphed white board that we are to fill with dry-erase marked numbers throughout the day.  I post mine and pop my lunch in the microwave.  Because we stand for 7 1/2 hours per day on the sales floor, sometimes these breaks are necessary.  I usually hate taking them while customers are waiting, so this one has been a long time coming.  I grab my food and turn to the table that lines the already narrow hallway.  No vacancy.  There is Janice, no doubt pooped from her one transaction of the day and two other coworkers sitting in chairs.  This means I can’t even squeeze between them and the whiteboard to get anywhere.  I grab an empty cardboard box that lies near the backdoor and flip it over.  I sink in, half squatting to avoid its collapse.  It's more of a workout than a break.  I plop onto the floor.  I began digging into the leftover eggplant parmesan when I almost spit it out from shock.

“Whew, Lordy, what a day!” Janice started at 11am and still had 6 more hours to go but she needs a rest.  “I don’t know how you guys do it.”

I eat my food quietly on the floor, not wanting to say anything, not wanting to compare days.  The other two coworkers, Brooklyn and Miguel, are commiserating about their customers as well.  Brooklyn has a guy I could hear from across the room who had been demanding a new phone.  He dives right into the story.

“So this fuckin' guy comes in with a 6 month old Nokia 3230 and he says that he needs a new battery.  I tell him...I advise him...that we are out of ‘em.  He says, ‘well, find me one!’”  Brooklyn is logical, he is helpful, he diffuses these bombs like no one else.  

“So I get on the phone and I call the guys over on Melrose and they have it for sale.  The guy asks me how much and I say it’s 25 bucks for the battery.  The guy says he can’t believe we don’t have it here.  I try and make him feel better by telling him if we did have it, it would cost him $50 at our store.  The guy gets into me about how we’re always sticking it to 'im.  Keep in mind," he throws out some DeNiro hands, "I’ve already gone above and beyond by calling these third party guys to locate a battery because I know no other Company store has 'em either.  I tell him I’m sorry about that, but the good news is that they are holding a battery for him only a mile away.  He says, get this, he says, ‘I want you to give me a new phone.’” 
Brooklyn grows increasingly animated with the retelling of the story.  “I stop this guy and say, ‘Sir, I’m sorry we don’t have the battery that you came in here to purchase, but I found one for even cheaper that you can get right up the street.  The warranty center can mail you the phone if you want to go that route, but if you want the battery today, I would strongly urge you to go over to Melrose and pick it up.’  This guy says he wants me to either have the battery transferred to our store or for me to give him a new phone.  Obviously we can’t do either.”  Brooklyn stands up as I eye his vacated seat, then he finishes, “this guy stops himself and just decides he wants a new phone now.  He gets loud at me and yells ‘Listen, you guys sold me a phone 6 months ago and the battery went bad.  If you don’t have the battery for the old phone, I want you to give me a new phone for free.  And, since I know you can’t do anything, I would like to talk to a manager!!’”  

He sits right back down.

“So that’s what he’s doing now.”

I shake my head and keep eating when I hear a strange noise.  Hauntingly operatic sounds are coming from somewhere in the hallway.  I check the backdoor, thinking it might be the wind in the alley.  I undo the security latches and bolts and open the door and throw it open.  Nothing.  No wind to be found, I throw the cardboard boxes out and come back inside shaking my head.

“What’s up?”  Brooklyn throws his head up at me.

“Nothing, I keep hearing this weird sound.”

Brooklyn’s eyes get big and his face turns read as if I had just ruined a secret.  Miguel starts giggling.  Brooklyn laughs and has to turn around.  The noise is coming from Janice.  Janice, thankfully oblivious to all goings on, continues quietly singing hymns to herself in a terribly off-pitch operatic soprano.  Nice lady, awful voice.  I have to interrupt.  

“Janice,” I start, drawing attention to the whiteboard, “did you update your numbers?”

“Oh no, I should do that.”

Yes, you should....quietly.

She stands up to the board and grabs a red Dry-Erase marker.

“Let’s see....what does ‘ACT’ stand for?”

“Mmm...activation.”

“Okay, I think I got one of those.” She moves to the next line.  “What’s an “UP?”

“That’s an upgrade.  That’s when you extend an existing customer’s contract in exchange for a discount on the phone.”

“Oh no.  That’s what I did.”  She erases her mark from the “ACT” column and moves it to “UP” before continuing.

“Is ‘FPO’ when I sell something?”

“FPO stands for Features Per Opportunity.  Did you sell that guy a data package or text messaging plan?”

“No.  Is ‘APO’ when I sell something?” 

“Yes, if that something is an accessory.”

“Oh no.  None of those.”

I attempt to ignore the fact that these are terms that actually should be covered in training.  I somehow forgive that she doesn't know this.  I look up at my own line of pathetic numbers on the board.  Shit.  I cut lunch early and head back out to the sales floor.

Enter Janice (Part 1)

Janice is nice.  Janice is very sweet.  Janice might be the worst coworker I’ve ever had to work with.  With a stroke of irrationality and flexed muscle, The Bobble Head has decided to go over Cock Bombay’s head and make his own hire.  The Bobble Head took a look at the applicant pool and picked the sweetest smile with the gentlest voice.  Incorrectly guessing about what the customer is looking for, the Head has gone back on his word.  Instead of his promise that we should be able to assuage every concern by talking about 'the network', he now champions a new mantra-- “just be nice.”  I don't entirely disagree.  Kindness, understanding and compassion go a long way in most service industries. It's hard to argue with nice.  However, in this industry of temperamental invisible technology, a grasp on how it works(or rather why it doesn’t) goes a pretty long way too.

The Bobble Head doesn’t get it, because he doesn’t have it inside him, but honesty is the only policy the customer will fully agree with.  They have to.  Truth without bias is not a perception--it’s truth.  It definitely doesn't make The Company look better when I agree with the customer.  When I agree that a $100 monthly phone bill is outrageous for terrible service, I'm doing The Company no favors.  And yet, that’s why my own satisfaction rating is in the 97% range by the end of every year.  If I were to, as Cock Bombay would have me, explain to the customer that the survey they are taking is entirely about me, my scores would suffer.  The reputation of this company would drag mine down. 

Instead, I now explain honestly and with competence, that I’m sorry--that I agree.  I admit with just as much confidence that it might get better and usher in a quick warning that it probably will not.  No one is thrilled by these tempered expectations, but most, having already endured a tumultuous relationship of lies, are relieved to hear the truth.  "Have a party," I say.  "Invite a bunch of friends over to your house and see whose cell phone works.  Then go with that company.  We may not be your best option."
This shocking admission has lost some business.  More often, though, it has incited the response, "the service doesn't work in my house, but I'd rather buy all my phones from you."

Janice has mentioned that she is old enough to have a granddaughter.  I am polite enough not to know exactly what that means.  I do know that her daughter is dating the current Tour Manager of a ’70’s disco band and I suspect, at the risk of being called ageist, this makes Janice too old for our industry.  Janice finishes her two weeks of training and walks in the door with perfect hair, bright red lipstick around her smooth chocolate skin and her infectious smile.  She is a calming kind of person.  Your first look at Janice and you feel your blood pressure drop.  Your third shift with her will make you scream.

I don’t want to belabor the point because I feel guilty speaking ill of someone so sweet.  I ask that you, instead, focus on the men who put Janice in her current position.  See this as additional proof that the company placing her in our store, under the impression that anyone can follow the script and succeed, is beyond misguided.  The Company is out of touch and they put Janice out of her league.

Her third week on the job, Janice is still struggling with where the contacts are stored in the phone.  She has already deleted complete address books of three customers before she comes to me for help.  I explain to her that there are two storage locations for contacts in each phone.  
"There is a hard drive in the phone and a smart chip.  Most phones store the contact automatically to the phone memory because it is a more robust directory.  You can store physical addresses, birthdays, multiple numbers and e-mail addresses.  The smart chip can only hold about 250 contacts with single numbers per name."
I further encourage her that she should explain this to her customers because most of them think the contacts are on the sim card when, in fact, they are on the phone.  I explain nicely, “If you ask the customer where their contacts are stored, they are usually wrong because they just don’t know.”
She nods and smiles, understandingly before batting her eyes and gently grabbing my shoulder.

“What’s a hard drive?”

Not remotely...but sometimes, remotely.

I'm walking the floor of the Mandalay Bay Casino in Las Vegas when my phone rings.  I recognize the number and pick up within two vibrations.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Jason!  It's Cory.  I tried e-mailing you first but I didn't get a response."
"Oh yeah? I didn't get the e-mail.  When did you send it?"
"Five minutes ago."
"Ahhh...yeah, I'm not working right now and I don't get work e-mail on my phone.  What's up?"
"Something wrong with Jay's phone.  The internet doesn't work. I tried the usual tricks"
"Did he just change phones recently?" I troubleshoot.
"Usually that would be the case, but I actually think he's had the same one for a few weeks now."
"Is he traveling internationally?" I continue.
"He was.  He got back and I called in to take him off the international plan and put him on the regular plan."
"Okay, give me five minutes and I'll call you back."

I call into the store where I can get some actual help.
A greeter answers the phone and I let her know that it's me right away.  This relieves her of the obligation she feels to let me know about the gift cards, family finder feature and internet solutions we are offering for either your personal line or small business.  I cut to the chase.
"Who there has access to Tellect?  Is Brooklyn in?"  I know he isn't, it's Sunday.
"No..." I can hear her voice search around the store as she tries to remember the names of her new coworkers.
"Okay, fine.  Who's managing."
"Umm...it's ummm...Cock Bombay?"
"Uggh.  Okay, put him on."

I'm not asking for a favor for me.  I'm asking for a favor for a customer who already tried customer service and didn't get the appropriate action.  But Cock Bombay would love to do me a favor if it meant he could remind me of it down the line.

"Brother!!"  I can hear his smile beaming above the clanging slot machines around me.  "What's the honor to do me this time???"
"Hey, I need some help on the backend in Tellect for a customer.  Here's the number..."
"Hey, hey....you're not working today, brother!" 

Cock Bombay knows that when I'm not working, I'm not working.  There are very few calls I take from my house, let alone a casino floor.  When he calls me on the weekend to ask me to come in, my Company-paid phone line is as off-the-clock as I am.  However, when Jay-Z's assistant calls with a problem, I answer like it's a job offer.  And no, this is not because I view it as a means to accelerate my own rap career.  It's because Cory has always been cool to me.  I wouldn't answer the phone if he weren't.  So it's not a double standard.  It's just a standard.

"Can you check to see if, under the 'features' tab of the account, there's a SOC code that reads DATX?"
"Yes, brother, it's there."
"Can you remove it, please?"
"I can move it.  Do you have last four of the social?"
"It's not a social, it's a tax ID and it's 8068."
"Very good.  Okaaaaaayyyy."  I hear him labor to remember how to use the old system.  "All done."
"And hit 'save' and then 'refresh' for me, please."  Tellect is a fickle system.
"Okaaaaaaayyyy.  All set.  Anything else?  Who's the Shawn Carter Enterprise?"
"It's nothing.  Thanks."

I hang up and call Cory back, one or two minutes after I told him I would.
"He'll need to restart the phone and it should start working,"  I inform him.
"Dude," he responds with a laugh, "why was I on the phone with International Customer Care for an hour earlier??"
"Because you're lonely and have no better use for your time?"
"Haha....right.  You're the best, bro.  Next time you're in New York during a show, let me know."
"How 'bout I call you when Jay's in LA."
"Fair enough."

WMMC?

         Not quite ready to be fired again, damned fool that I am, I bolster my defenses and come up with some semblance of a plan.  It can't take much, right?  All I need to do is what each of those acrylic warriors in middle management do.  They manage.  They manage to get dressed every day.  They manage to endure being the subjects of berating conference calls every day.  They manage to utter smokescreens of excuses explaining missed metrics every day.  They manage to somehow keep their jobs every mind-blowing day.  My plan is to do as these managers do.  Get my superiors to lay out a step-by-step foolproof plan for success, follow it to the letter, and shrug my shoulders when the numbers don't add up.  Managers never get fired.  Ever.  And this is exactly how they do it.

         "Come in Mr. Jason!"  Cock Bombay is fat-kid-with-cake excited about this meeting.  "Take the seat there, brother.  What do I owe to this pleasure?"

          His feigned deference and bowing to me convince me that he was once on the receiving end of such behavior back in India.  His parody of humility ends and lowers his shit-eating grin to a level just below that of my own.

         "I need your help."  It doesn't kill me to say it as much as you might think.
         "Oh wow, now!  What is the surprise I see to have here!"  He's not at a loss for words, but their order is questionable.  His palm pledges allegiance to his mustard tie and he closes his eyes. "My help?"

          I stop him and continue while I still can "Yes, I'm having a bad month.  I feel like there aren't enough hours in the day to hit my numbers.  I feel like I'm helping everyone else in the store and my numbers are suffering.  I figured we could maybe come up with a game plan together.   And maybe I need a little motivation to get back on top again.  It's hard because I have this supposed seniority, but the new scheduling system arbitrarily selects a schedule--so that doesn't help me feel valued.  And I get paid the same as every new rep in here!  It's hard to get excited when my talents aren't being used and I feel like the best parts of me are being wasted here."

          I don't know what happened, I started sticking with my plan and here I am spewing out, of all things, the truth!

          His smile goes flaccid and he leans back in his executive business chair.  He closes his eyes and summons his fingertips to his face to rub out the answer.  There's no training class for this.  No certificates on these walls license him to deal with personal concerns from his staff.  He rubs as if to ask his magic crystal ball face, what would the Bobble Head Do?!? 

          I reach back and grab the office door.  Open-close-open-close-open-close I reintroduce oxygen to the room.  His eyes open and he is bright red and serious.

         "I don't want to sound like the broken tape here," he begins and I know I'm in for it.  "As manager, I don't control the schedule.  I don't control the pay!  And I can't control the motivation!"  He breathes and swivels around in his chair, looking around the room.

         "But I am going to help you." He reaches for a book from the tiny shelf above his desk.  "I have some good adwice for you."

          He puts the small, square book in front of me and continues, "The life is full of changes.  If you want to be a great leader, you have to follow the directive.  For me, I want to be the President someday! That's right!  But you can bet it on the bottom of the line, I must follow the directive to get there!  And at the end of the day, only you can be the motivation in your life." He points into the cover of the little square book with his index finger as he makes this last point on motivation.  He leans back again but this time keeps eye-contact with me to tell me he's done.
          Well, this was fun.  
          I'm dizzy, but manage to stand and make my exit.
         "Thanks.  You're totally right."  I pick up the book from his desk.  "I'm glad we're on the same page in understanding what our job responsibilities are where they, apparently, end."
          What's left to manage after pay, schedule and motivation??
         "I just need to work harder," I resolve.  He gives a satisfied grin.  To him, our session has been a runaway success.

          Leaving the room and crossing the sales floor, I look down at my new copy of Who Moved My Cheese?  I shake my head and go to read the next name from the list.

Cell phone emergency

I read the next name from the list.  “Hakim?”

“Hey man, how’s it going?  I need your help.”  This is not Hakim.

The man speaking to me now has rushed directly through the front door, passing the 10-15 people waiting in line with their names on the list and is shaking his phone at me demonstratively.  I am polite.

“Sir, did you sign in?”

“No...What?” Looking around, eyeing the sheet. “No!”

“Okay, sir, well there’s a sign in sheet right here and I would be glad to help you get your name on it so we can get through everyone in an orderly fashion.”

“Oh no, I don’t have time to sign in.  I can’t wait.  I’m illegally parked in the handicapped spot.”

It’s one thing to think you can park in the blue parking spot specifically designated for those of our customers who need greater assistance accessing our store.  It’s something else entirely to assume that such a transgression would be reason for expediting your place in line.

“Sir, there are a lot of legally parked people on the list in front of you.”

“You don’t understand, this is an emergency.”

“Oh, I’m sorry sir.”  I feign frantic.  “I didn’t realize it was an emergency.  Please follow me this way.” I purposefully parade him back through the patiently waiting masses to the demo phones.  “Any number of our phones here on display are capable of dialing 911 if you need help.  Here, you can use mine!”  

I take my smart phone from its holster and start dialing.  Before he can protest, I continue speaking quickly disallowing his interjection.  “What else can I do?  Can I get you anything?  Do you need First-Aid?”  He looks at me, bewildered.  He then speaks to me slowly, as if I’m the one who is failing to understand the situation.

“No, it’s a cell phone emergency.”

I drop the act and look at him seriously.  “There is no such thing, sir.  Put your name on the list and go park your car in the lot.”

“You’re a real dick.”

“Thank you, sir.”

There is a gentle applause from the line as he exits in a huff, gets in his (take your pick) Porsche/RangeRover/Hummer/Prius and drives off, freeing up the prime parking for those who truly need it.

I return to my counter to help Hakim, who has been considerably more patient, with what will undoubtedly be his own ‘cell phone emergency.’