CUDDLING THE ROBOT

 

I AM NOT A ROBOT

     In preparation for a recent trip to SF I decided to get a burner phone. Trump may not know what that is but anyone who has seen Better Call Saul or The Wire knows that a "burner" is a pay as you go, untraceable cell phone originally favored by drug dealers. You should be able to plug it in, charge it, and set up your account in the front seat of the truck. Guess again.

    I purchased both my burner and my $40 pre-paid AT&T card at Walmart. I asked the checkout girl how it all worked and she just shrugged and told me the "phone people" weren't in yet. "If it doesn't work you can always return it." Knowing enough what NOT to do I let it all sit in the very secure plastic packaging until Shewho could assess the technical issues. The first instruction they gave was to scratch off the number on the AT&T card. Done. How hard could this be? With the use of another phone, a computer, multiple passwords and pin numbers, and 1 1/2 hrs. of precious "date night" time Shewho still hadn't cracked the code and got a dial tone. After another frustrating hour the next morning we both gave up and I drove back to Walmart to return the phone and card.

    The nice young man took the phone and card from my hand and mentioned "We've had a lot of returns on these." I could see why. I told him of my frustrations and how drug dealers must have to have a team of IT experts these days just to do business. He didn't laugh. Then he held up the $40 card and said he couldn't refund that. "The number is scratched." he said with a sigh. I calmly told him that was the first thing they instructed you to do - scratch the number. He sympathized and understood my "catch-22" dilemma. Then he called his manager. She'd sort it all out.

    The manager was a pink, squishy-faced, over weight young woman who began talking over me immediately, explaining that I had "scratched off the number so....no refund!" My calm vanished. "MISS! Stop talking over me....this FUCKING process has been BULLSHIT since the get go." She just stared blankly as other yellow vested employees froze in their tracks, pondering if they should call security. It went on like this for a couple of minutes. The young man offered "cash" on the phone in order to placate me. It didn't work. I told them both I was not yelling at them but the yellow and blue Walmart (Ukrainian?) colors they were wearing! "YOU ASSHOLES REPRESENT THESE CORPORATIONS LIKE AT&T AND WALMART THAT STEAL US BLIND. CAN YOU AFFORD TO THROW AWAY $40? (more stares) WELL I CAN'T. YOU ARE ALL SLAVES TO THE MACHINE, CHECKING BOXES AND SCRATCHING OFF SILVER STRIPS ON COMMAND.....ROBOTS! I AM NOT A ROBOT!"Then I drove home minus $40, once again with no cell phone. If you want to get a hold of me call Cheeky.     

    

FEE WITH FAN

 Photo: R. Kern 

A SHORT UPDATE

       I really believed I could become a capitalist. I did. I wanted to give it a try. So I put this declaration out into the universe, shouted it from the roof tops, waving my hands wildly. I gave it a solid 48 hours and all I felt was disgust and shame. No sales. Forget the fact that I now have 276 drawings, completely disregarding the laws of supply (seemingly unlimited) to demand (none), the inner turmoil that my declaration as a person "only concerned with the bottom line" was unfathomable. I was already an alcoholic. To put capitalist in front of "drunk" seemed redundant. Why would I ever want to be a part of that very large club? So I'm back, a social sculptor working on the fringes for no remuneration.......broke as hell, but happy as a clam. I won't try that again. Phew! That was close.