I'm having a problem with my cell phone/cell service. Specifically, Sprint PCS, which, from what I can tell stands for Piece of Crap Service. You see, I had a phone that I thought was a piece of crap, the HTC Evo. Wait, no, I know it was a piece of crap. It got error messages all the time. You couldn't even send a text without it giving you various error messages. It wouldn't go online, wouldn't let you send or receive pictures, and the list goes on. The only thing it had going for it is the pink case. I took it into the store multiple times and each time the salesman would tell me what a piece of crap it was and how he never sells it to customers and how I got screwed. Well, this makes a customer feel good, doesn't it? No one could do anything about it and so I sucked it up and continued to suffer, but not in silence. I bitched more than than the Real Housewives of whatever city that was. Will hated it and it drove him crazy. One day, Will said, "That's it, we are going down to get you a new phone, I don't care what it costs, it will be worth it to shut you up." I sat there quietly for a moment, contemplating what he said. I returned, "You know you are never going to be able to shut me up, right?" He just looked at me and shook his head. He knew I was right. But, doggone it, I sure applaud his efforts.
We went to the Sprint PCS store on September 2nd. It was our five year anniversary and Will was buying me a gift to shut me up. His training is right on schedule, I think. Anyway, we purchased the Galaxy 2. I wanted to just get a new phone, but apparently, Cell Phone Bitch, henceforth to be referred to as CPB, said we couldn't do that, we had to get an additional line. I didn't understand why, but Will was willing to do anything to get me a damn phone. She said, and I quote, "You will love this phone, I promise." A promise is a promise and she LIED. I hate this phone. Sure, it has a sparkly case, but that is it. Will has the same phone as me and has a fraction of the problems I do. Okay, so I know what you are thinking, I'm the common denominator. No, not true. It won't connect to the network, can't send/receive picture mail, can't get email, can't talk at home, can't talk at work. I could go on, but I won't. (liar).
Today, I had had enough. I called them. I got some lady named Joanne. She said she allegedly understood. She knows exactly how I feel. I doubt it. I said to her, "Listen, I know you are doing your job, so I don't want to be mean to you, but I hate Sprint's guts." She kept saying, "...what I hear you saying is..." I'm pretty sure Joanne was a work-at-home rep that was making possum stew and watchin her granchillin. She had no knowledge, no power and was wasting my time. She wasted it for 40 minutes on my lunch hour. After telling her everything that went wrong, she checked with her supervisor to see what could be done and their answer was to sell me a new phone for ONLY $129. I said to her, "Are you out of your mind? After everything I have said, you want me to spend MORE money to get another phone? I think that is a piss poor solution to my problem and I can't believe you find that acceptable. We are done." I hung up. MAD.
I chewed on that conversation all afternoon. I wasn't done. As soon as my shift was over, I called again. Told my story again. Got transferred. Told my story again. Got transferred to someone that was allegedly going to help. She informed me my phone was worth over $500 so I couldn't just get out of my contract. I informed her, it wasn't worth over $5.99 as it was now. She then transferred me to her supervisor. I had to tell the story again. This time Brandon was going to help me. After torturing me again, he advised me he had to get technical support on the line. Apparently what that means is, he is going to cold transfer me over there and then hang up on me. I was livid. I had been on the phone for an hour and that Mother-Trucking-Lizard-Licking-Shit-Eating-Mouth-Breathing-Baby-of-a-Second-Cousin just disconnected me.
My ovaries were pulsating. I'm pretty sure I just ovulated for the second time this month. It probably isn't possible, but I just popped an ovary, I know it. I could be having contractions at this point. My right eye was twitching again and I think my lip was starting to curl. I sat there, angry, that one vein in my neck going "boom, boom, boom." We are done when I say we are done. I called back. I got some kid. I started out a little like this, "So, you think it is acceptable to have someone on the line for over an hour, transfer them, make them tell their story over and over and then cold transfer them just when you are allegedly going to help them? Is that what Sprint thinks of me? I realize you have me over a barrel being stuck in a contract, but you think that means it's okay to lie to me and then sell me sub-par equipment and then treat me like shit? Is that Sprint's motto? Is that what my business means? Is that what I can expect as a customer? I just want you to note my account that I am DONE. I realize I don't matter to you, and so, I will be reaching out to the Better Business Bureau, the Attorney General, the FCC and anyone else that will listen to me. Please take a moment and note that." He was quiet for a moment and assured me he cared and that he could help. I told him I had been on the phone for hours and this was his last chance. He wanted to transfer me to his supervisor. I waited on hold for 10 minutes. No check in to see if I was okay, no update, nothing. I realized at that moment that I didn't have fresh clothes with me for work tomorrow and that I could be pulling an all nighter. I hung up. For just today, it's over.
I walked out to my truck, defeated. I turned on my radio. Freakin commercials. I hate commercials. I put in a gansta rap type CD that one of my sister's ex boyfriends made for me. I drove home, rather fast and aggressive, there wasn't much traffic since rush hour had come and gone. My favorite song came on, "Yeah" by Usher, Lil John and Ludacris. For reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiXbRBS5Z58.
I just let all that bad ju-ju go. I was bad ass. I was the hippest white chick you ever saw. I just got into the lyrics and got down with my bad self. I'm navigating traffic, I'm bobbing my head, you know, like any white girl does with no real ability to dance? My neck was in this circular motion, my chin jutting out. I was bad. I threw some shoulder action in there. Now, work the hips...."...hold the head steady while I milk the cows....lean over to the front....touch your toes..." and then my favorite part, I yelled it while moving all these body parts, "I like a lady in the street but a freak in the bed!" OH YEAH! "Take that, windin back..." I pictured myself in apple bottom jeans, like a shorty gettin lower lower lower. I was working the dance floor, oh yeah....
At this point I was getting close to home. Some ugly green blazer flicked a cigarette out the window, I was pissed. I'm going to go Smokey the Bear all over his ass! I'm calling the FBI, CIA, the police, the President of the United States. That mo-fo just flicked a lit cigarette out the window and we haven't had rain for over 70 days!!! I'm outraged! STUPID PEOPLE! And then, I took a breath, reached up, hit the repeat button for track #6...YEAH...back in the club....take that, windin back...yeah, yeah...head bobbin...who says white chicks can't dance? I am working this drivers seat in this Dodge Dakota like a stripper pole. Girls hate me, or they wanna be me... I'm that girl...lady in the street but a freak in the bed...
I'm just going to recharge "at the club" in the morning and then it is game on for Sprint tomorrow. I've got street cred, I've got people, I've got skills and damn it...I've got ovaries. Sprint is screwed.
We went to the Sprint PCS store on September 2nd. It was our five year anniversary and Will was buying me a gift to shut me up. His training is right on schedule, I think. Anyway, we purchased the Galaxy 2. I wanted to just get a new phone, but apparently, Cell Phone Bitch, henceforth to be referred to as CPB, said we couldn't do that, we had to get an additional line. I didn't understand why, but Will was willing to do anything to get me a damn phone. She said, and I quote, "You will love this phone, I promise." A promise is a promise and she LIED. I hate this phone. Sure, it has a sparkly case, but that is it. Will has the same phone as me and has a fraction of the problems I do. Okay, so I know what you are thinking, I'm the common denominator. No, not true. It won't connect to the network, can't send/receive picture mail, can't get email, can't talk at home, can't talk at work. I could go on, but I won't. (liar).
Today, I had had enough. I called them. I got some lady named Joanne. She said she allegedly understood. She knows exactly how I feel. I doubt it. I said to her, "Listen, I know you are doing your job, so I don't want to be mean to you, but I hate Sprint's guts." She kept saying, "...what I hear you saying is..." I'm pretty sure Joanne was a work-at-home rep that was making possum stew and watchin her granchillin. She had no knowledge, no power and was wasting my time. She wasted it for 40 minutes on my lunch hour. After telling her everything that went wrong, she checked with her supervisor to see what could be done and their answer was to sell me a new phone for ONLY $129. I said to her, "Are you out of your mind? After everything I have said, you want me to spend MORE money to get another phone? I think that is a piss poor solution to my problem and I can't believe you find that acceptable. We are done." I hung up. MAD.
I chewed on that conversation all afternoon. I wasn't done. As soon as my shift was over, I called again. Told my story again. Got transferred. Told my story again. Got transferred to someone that was allegedly going to help. She informed me my phone was worth over $500 so I couldn't just get out of my contract. I informed her, it wasn't worth over $5.99 as it was now. She then transferred me to her supervisor. I had to tell the story again. This time Brandon was going to help me. After torturing me again, he advised me he had to get technical support on the line. Apparently what that means is, he is going to cold transfer me over there and then hang up on me. I was livid. I had been on the phone for an hour and that Mother-Trucking-Lizard-Licking-Shit-Eating-Mouth-Breathing-Baby-of-a-Second-Cousin just disconnected me.
My ovaries were pulsating. I'm pretty sure I just ovulated for the second time this month. It probably isn't possible, but I just popped an ovary, I know it. I could be having contractions at this point. My right eye was twitching again and I think my lip was starting to curl. I sat there, angry, that one vein in my neck going "boom, boom, boom." We are done when I say we are done. I called back. I got some kid. I started out a little like this, "So, you think it is acceptable to have someone on the line for over an hour, transfer them, make them tell their story over and over and then cold transfer them just when you are allegedly going to help them? Is that what Sprint thinks of me? I realize you have me over a barrel being stuck in a contract, but you think that means it's okay to lie to me and then sell me sub-par equipment and then treat me like shit? Is that Sprint's motto? Is that what my business means? Is that what I can expect as a customer? I just want you to note my account that I am DONE. I realize I don't matter to you, and so, I will be reaching out to the Better Business Bureau, the Attorney General, the FCC and anyone else that will listen to me. Please take a moment and note that." He was quiet for a moment and assured me he cared and that he could help. I told him I had been on the phone for hours and this was his last chance. He wanted to transfer me to his supervisor. I waited on hold for 10 minutes. No check in to see if I was okay, no update, nothing. I realized at that moment that I didn't have fresh clothes with me for work tomorrow and that I could be pulling an all nighter. I hung up. For just today, it's over.
I walked out to my truck, defeated. I turned on my radio. Freakin commercials. I hate commercials. I put in a gansta rap type CD that one of my sister's ex boyfriends made for me. I drove home, rather fast and aggressive, there wasn't much traffic since rush hour had come and gone. My favorite song came on, "Yeah" by Usher, Lil John and Ludacris. For reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiXbRBS5Z58.
I just let all that bad ju-ju go. I was bad ass. I was the hippest white chick you ever saw. I just got into the lyrics and got down with my bad self. I'm navigating traffic, I'm bobbing my head, you know, like any white girl does with no real ability to dance? My neck was in this circular motion, my chin jutting out. I was bad. I threw some shoulder action in there. Now, work the hips...."...hold the head steady while I milk the cows....lean over to the front....touch your toes..." and then my favorite part, I yelled it while moving all these body parts, "I like a lady in the street but a freak in the bed!" OH YEAH! "Take that, windin back..." I pictured myself in apple bottom jeans, like a shorty gettin lower lower lower. I was working the dance floor, oh yeah....
At this point I was getting close to home. Some ugly green blazer flicked a cigarette out the window, I was pissed. I'm going to go Smokey the Bear all over his ass! I'm calling the FBI, CIA, the police, the President of the United States. That mo-fo just flicked a lit cigarette out the window and we haven't had rain for over 70 days!!! I'm outraged! STUPID PEOPLE! And then, I took a breath, reached up, hit the repeat button for track #6...YEAH...back in the club....take that, windin back...yeah, yeah...head bobbin...who says white chicks can't dance? I am working this drivers seat in this Dodge Dakota like a stripper pole. Girls hate me, or they wanna be me... I'm that girl...lady in the street but a freak in the bed...
I'm just going to recharge "at the club" in the morning and then it is game on for Sprint tomorrow. I've got street cred, I've got people, I've got skills and damn it...I've got ovaries. Sprint is screwed.
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