Fulfilling My Personal Vendetta: A Tirade Against The Sprint Cellular Phone Company

If you've had a conversation with me on my cell phone in the past two years, you're well aware that it is nearly impossible to complete such a conversation without my phone losing the connection, turning off, or reaching its spindly little wires out of the speaker holes to poke me repeatedly in the ear. I especially like when the phone inflicts physical pain.

This past weekend, my phone -- let's call it "Buttface" -- so this past weekend Buttface imploded. I had thrown it to the ground (gently and lovingly) one too many times; I had stomped one too many times on Buttface with the intent to release every angry thought and frustrated moment onto its mockingly unscathed and clean face plate. Buttface gained a pulse all of its own, turning on and off like an automon, buzzing and chiming to the chorus in Buttface's internal Phone World. Without one final, large sputter Buttface just stopped. And died. No hope for resusitation.

The details about why I'm waiting another month past when my phone contract ends (on July 25) to buy a new phone and a new, non-Sprint plan are unimportant, but I still need an operable phone for the next 6 weeks or so. One that I'm not going to pay $150 for. Which led me to call Sprint customer yesterday in an attempt to have my number assigned to my mom's phone since my phone is too old to be fixed or replaced under warranty.

I called Sprint customer service FOUR times. The first time, I wasn't even put on hold - the connection was lost somewhere in the middle of typing in the first sentence of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban with proper punctuation, for account security reasons, and the three times after that I was disconnected by the reliable Sprint system while jamming to Bach's 76th symphony on the hold soundtrack.

So I freakin' drove to the store. The Very Crowded Store Filled With Equally Annoyed, Disatisfied Sprint Customers Out For Blood And Money.

I waited in the line. The Very Long line.

I explained the situation to the person behind the counter - we'll call her Slow to protect her identity - and Slow took me over to the bank of for-sale cell phones attached to the wall to call customer service. Guess what happened? While talking to Corey (his real name) in customer service, the call was dropped. Not by customer service this time, but BY THE FREAKING CELL PHONE BECAUSE SPRINT SERVICE SUCKS MORE THAN A REALLY EXPENSIVE PROSTITUTE AT THE CHEETAH.

I returned to Slow's counter feeling a renewed sense of vindication and this time we called customer service from her land line behind the counter. This time, I was able to get through the call after repeating myself 16 times because apparently Slow's sister answered my customer service call. And after telling all 4 of the customer service people I talked to in the store and on the phone while there that no, I did not want to take "advantage" of $150 rebate on a new phone for renewing my contract. I told Corey that, and I quote, I WOULDN'T TAKE A $1,000 PHONE FROM YOU IF IT MEANT I HAD TO HAVE ANOTHER CONTRACT WITH SPRINT. That's actually right about when the cell phone lost service, coincidentally enough.

I also had to tell Slow and her sister that no, I did not want to reassign my contract to someone else because I'D RATHER SLOWLY ROAST MY FRIEND OVER A ROTISSERIE PIT WITH RAVENUOUS LIZARDS LOOKING ON THAN ALLOW MY FRIEND TO USE SPRINT.

So, for now, my cell phone number works and goes to my mom's working cell phone. Feel free to call me. I thought I figured out text messaging but I haven't gotten any back so maybe it doesn't really work.

And remember the moral of this rant: Lizards like to eat rotisserie.