Yesterday my crappy phone decided to stop working. This is a problem as I have no home phone, so I was out of commission for a brief moment in time. I had to get that crappy phone because I dropped my awesome hot pink phone in the toilet. Whoops.
I went to T-Mobile right after work today to see what they get do about this phone that I didn't really want in the first place. Of course they told me I bought a phone that sucked from the get-go (where were they on that when I bought it?) and that I would need to buy a new phone. Sigh.
They suggested some phones, all of which weren't pink mind you, so I settled for one that was conducive to texting and would suit my needs. Woody, yes that was his real name, was helping me in this adventure. I told him as he was ringing me up that some of my numbers were saved to the phone, not the SIM card, and would he kindly transfer those. If I knew then what I know now, I would have just sacrificed those friends.
One hour and a half later I was 112 contacts lighter and dangerously and uncomfortably close to a date. Woody sweated profusely as he desperately tried to figure out what happened to all those 112 friends that he decided I no longer needed. He'd ignore me for long periods of time then say things like, "So...what do you do?" Smirk, wink. Ugh.
Then, after an hour of sitting on an uncomfortable stool, having to go to the bathroom and dying of hunger (I wish I'd brought provisions), Woody asked for my zip code. "Do you live around here? Like close?" Really? No, seriously? That's the oldest line in the book? No I don't live around here and I don't come here often. I hope never to come here again!
I now have this stupid, ridiculously expensive phone and hopefully, all of your numbers. If not, it's not my fault. Blame Woody.
No comments:
Post a Comment