NUMBER, PLEASE

Airhead

Before I left for New Mexico, alone, last week, Big Bore and Mama Bore made me promise to buy a cell phone. The round trip would be over 1,300 miles, and they didn’t want to have to worry for 1,299 of those. So, to make them happy, I went out to ALCO, bought a TracFone and 60 minutes worth of calling on it. That was the easy part. Getting it set up was another story.

The misery began with a call to Ishmael, whose job it was to assign me all sorts of number sets. After 40 minutes on the phone trying to understand him and see various numbers on the phone, we parted--with the idea that I was to plug in the phone and it would be ready to go in about four hours.

The next day, one day before trip departure, I decided to try out my new purchase. The first message on its screen was that I could make collect or credit card calls only. Well, this wasn’t right. So, it was back on the regular phone for TracFone assistance…this time from a female version of Ishmael, who eventually determined that somewhere along the line Ishmael and I got a number messed up. She would have to give me a whole new set of numbers to enter into the cell phone. Midway through the numbers marathon, however, I dropped the regular phone while trying to press numbers on the cell phone. Disconnected!!!

I was so pissed off at this point, I just decided to hell with it. I was taking the cell phone back to ALCO and would hope for the best on the trip to New Mexico…just like I’ve done without a hitch for the past 35 years on the road. Big Bore didn’t even protest my decision. He just sat in his easy chair, mute. He knows not to argue with me when there’s steam coming out of my ears. Plus, he truly does hate cell phones, too.

Well, the good gals at ALCO asked me if I’d keep the phone if they could get it working, since it’s hard to work refunds on them. Fine. Three clerks, one manager, and about 15 minutes later, all systems were go.

As it turned out, I used the cell phone on the trip, just for the heck of it, to see if it would work. I called my hostess once, but she was gone and her message machine was full so that was a zero. I tried calling Big Bore when in New Mexico, but there was apparently no range to connect to him. On the way home, when making a pit stop in Greensburg, I tried calling him again, with no luck. It didn’t dawn on me until I got into the next county, though, that I punched in the cell phone number and not our home number! Duh!!!

I managed to reach Big Bore at the next stop, Pratt, to tell him where I was. Probably a 30-second conversation, if that, but, at last, I was an official cell phone user…with 55 minutes left to use. Ugh!!!

Two days later I drove to Pittsburg to see a friend, 240 miles round trip. The $#@! cell phone stayed home.