kindly refrain from cell phone use

Three months ago I posted here about my cell phone’s imminent demise. In fact, it didn’t die of natural causes. I euthanized it.

At precisely 1:43 a.m., Boost Mobile sent me a text message on that phone advising me to attend to the credit card on the account. It was, in fact, due to expire in 60 days. So I need a message waking me up in the middle of the night? I couldn’t even do anything about it since I hadn’t received my new card in the mail yet.

I don’t know if you, while reading the paragraph above noticed but I got that text in the early morning hours. And, while I know there are reasons to “explain” such an interruption of my sleep, they are none of them valid.

I keep a phone handy at night for two very special reasons. They are my son and my daughter. My daughter lives next door but her house backs to the woods where there have been bears. Bears on decks trashing stuff. Bears, bears. I keep a phone on for a listen in case there’s trouble down the way. And my son is a police officer of recent enough standing that he’s out nights mostly. That’s the phone call I never want to get. So when the stupid phone went off in the middle of the night, I jolted awake wondering which disaster had fallen—not even thinking about the void of despair of Boost Mobile that my credit card might at some future point decline the monthly charge.

When I looked into ways to register my displeasure with Boost Mobile, there frankly isn’t any. Oh sure, you can dial up their number but you’ll be led into a cavernous puzzle of automated menu selections, none of which says “If you’re ticked off at Boost and would like to complain about it, press 9.” “For sympathy, dial 0.”

I went to the Boost Mobile Web site. Now there’s a laugh. They do, in fact, have a place for an e-mail (which most likely goes into some vast ether bin of forgotten digital notes). I would have written one anyway, if only to cool off from their labyrinthine customer service menu, but for the fact of not knowing my four-digit pass code. I simply cannot remember ever having gotten one. I mean, I probably did since a nice friendly place like Boost wouldn’t ask me for it otherwise, but I was shucked if I knew it.

Silly me—I then sallied off to the local Boost Mobile store. That was far less enigmatic as a BIG sign at the door says that they only “sale” Boost Mobile phones. For anything account related, you have to call the number I had already called and cursed. Apparently there have been other less-than-satisfied customers visiting–this was, for me, a consolation in some weird small way.

Upon returning home, I found a Facebook page for Boost Mobile. I poured out my distress in a Wall post. The oh-so-diligent poor soul sent to mind the Facebook that day replied weakly, misspelling my name. Those of you familiar with Facebook will know that your name is RIGHT THERE. When I not-so-serenely pointed this out in a reply of my own, yet another minion of Boost now gave me the brilliant option of turning my phone off at night. I wonder, then, would they reduce my bill by a third, since I have to turn it off so as not to be needlessly disrupted by them?

After a short side trip into a Cricket phone which service is a joke in my particular area, I am now sans cell phone. At first it was a little creepy, but I’m getting the hang of it. I do now, though, have to go get a watch. Do they still make those?


2 thoughts on “Disconnect

  1. My elder stepdaughter can’t understand why I don’t have my trackphone with me 24/7. I try to remind her we got it for my late-night commutes, just in case I collide with another deer at midnight.
    I try to tell her I’m not chained to the phone, but that’s not in her realm of comprehension, either. I like to be free. We all need time to breathe and recharge. A phone (any phone) should be auxiliary to our life, not the center of it. Most of the time, I think the Amish have it right, allowing a payphone down at the corner, rather than in the kitchen.
    I wonder what they’d make of Facebook or texting.

    • I find that younger people don’t understand nor do they accept the notion of not being “always on.” A young woman asked me once how I could crochet so well and how would I even think of making a whole blanket. She had earlier mentioned she sends around 10,000 texts a month. I told her that I didn’t spend my time texting so I had time to crochet. Like you said, “not in her realm of comprehension.” It’s the same absolutely incredulousness when I tell people I don’t watch TV. Thanks for weighing in here, Jnana.

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