Last week I went to the Verizon store to get a new cellphone. No longer keeping a charge after four years, I thought the time was right to treat myself to a new phone.
After waiting in line for a major portion of my rapidly dwindling life span, I was finally assisted by a very cheerful, very pleasant young lady. I showed her my telephone and asked her to give me one just like it.
She started to giggle. Apparently the powers who lead Verizon have decided that “flip-phones” no longer deserve to be sold. I believe the phrase the young lady used was “we don’t sell burners anymore.” Great, now I am part of the plot of “The Wire.”
I explained to her that my phone was a very reliable, very sturdy cellular device that does a more than adequate job of connecting me to the rest of the world. With a wrinkle of her nose, she asked, “How in the world can you text with that thing?” I then attempted to explain that intellectually it seemed ridiculous for me to carry a device that can connect me by voice to anyone in the world and then use it to write them a note. She gave me the same type of look a bear gives a human when you try to teach it algebra.
Still in need of a phone, I then suggested that she find me the “dumbest” smartphone in the store, meaning the cheapest. She brought out one and pointed out that I could now use my phone to “FaceTime” with my friend. Again I tried to explain that in my world that was not very important. My friend Jerry Ceppos is even older than me and not someone with a face I needed to look at in “high def.” At our age, even with the help of a high-definition lens, we both come off looking a little fuzzy.
Perhaps believing that it was a major selling point, the young lady told me that I was missing out on using my telephone as a camera.
“After all,” she said “don’t you want to post ‘selfies’ on Instagram?”
Trying hard to hold back the demise of western civilization, I explained that I don’t have an Instagram account. Unlike the Kardashians, I generally keep my clothes on when using my phone. Even if I did get naked while on the phone, I am certain no one would want a picture of me. Instagram, really!
I need to have someone explain to me why young people believe that everyone else wants to see pictures of what they are about to consume for dinner. I know for certain that my friend Jerry doesn’t care what is on the table in front of me at a restaurant — unless, of course, it happened to be a really good bourbon and I was willing to share.
After finding out that the cheapest smartphone is several times more expensive than a flip phone, and that you need to buy a super fast charger and a pricey, protective case because it is two thirds glass, I became the owner of an iPhone.
That young lady may not have understood my logic, but she knew how to sell.
Now, at the press of a button, I am able to find out the temperature in Cupertino, California, the time of day on Pitcairn Island and how many steps I have taken since I got up this morning.
What has not changed is that the same guy keeps calling me to try and sell me a car warranty.
— Monaco lives in Baton Rouge and Gulfport, Mississippi
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