"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.
True tales from the 'no service' industry.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
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."
"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."
Friday, December 13, 2013
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.
"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.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
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.
"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.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, November 22, 2013
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:
“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.”
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."
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