“Once again, I did not sell you THIS protection package, BUDDY.”
“You don’t need to fucking call me ‘buddy.’”
And with this, I went from “in over my head millennial” to full-on “let me speak to your manager” mom. If there is one thing that I hate whenever I go places, it’s being called something way under my age bracket. Anybody with a baby face can attest to this. Buddy, champ, pal, kid; they all fall into this category of “things that douchey customer service reps use when they know they’re gonna get bitched at.” And I’m not gonna lie: I was definitely getting ready to bitch at this dude.
“Yes, I know that YOU did not sell me this protection package. Your PEOPLE sold me this package.”
“Once again, it was not ME who sold this to you.”
Fuck you, and then please fuck you again. I had bought a plan to get a replacement phone when the current Android had inevitably stopped working, and I was 99% sure that Best Buy was doing their best to not give me my rightful replacement. I could feel at this point that I was fighting a losing battle. Chad was not going to budge, and I was not going to act like a running back’s girlfriend in an elevator and just take it. He was going to have to put up with the devil’s duo of a very irritated Italian Jew.
“So does your manager know that you’re fucking people out of these plans?”
“Once again, I’m sorry you feel this way, but I did not sell you this plan.”
One, your catchphrase is shit. If you’re going to begin a sentence with the same thing every time, make it memorable and relevant. “Doesn’t matter, had sex.” “Two pina coladas, one for each hand.” “Can’t be a legend without haters.” You know, something like that. But “once again” is a catchphrase for pussies. If that’s on your email signoff, you’re a worse person than The Protagonist when she opened up a dope coffee mug that I got her for her birthday and immediately said, “Uh, why did you get me this?”
Two, I swear to god, if you try one more time to avoid literally any blame (although let’s be real, it wasn’t his fault at all), I’m probably going to crush your head like an egg (shoutout to all the Jews who get this reference). But at this point, I realized it was a lost cause. I was ready to pack up and hit the road. However, not after being an irrational passive aggressive bitch one last time.
“So sir, how much more can you screw me tonight?”
“Once again, I was not the one who–“
And with that, I left in the middle of the sentence gave, him the Han Solo hand wave, and walked out the “In” doors. I know, I’m hardcore. (Although, I definitely high-key judge people who go the wrong way through automatic doors. Every time I see one of them doing that at Wegman’s or Walmart, I throw them hardcore shade and big side-eye.) The Protagonist was still looking at the Vera Wang iPad covers, but I knew she would eventually get bored looking at stuff that she (read: that I) couldn’t afford and leave.
When she finally got to the car, she could tell that I was not happy. Hell, I had a phone that didn’t work, a protection plan that was worthless, and I was going to have to drop like $200+ on a new phone. She sat there in awkward silence, looking down at her shoes while I debated my next move. “Honey, we’re going to Verizon. Let’s deal with this through the actual retailer.”
Verizon was a short drive up the street, so I figured I could get a new phone by time the day was done, then go back drink some Carlo Sweet Red until I felt as content as Peyton after he injects his five-head with HGH. We stepped out of the car and got into the store. “Hi, glad you could visit us today. Can you tell us your problem? There’s 3 people ahead of you, and the wait is about 45 minutes.”
Ugh, fuck me. The store closed relatively soon, and I wasn’t sure if we could get everything done in time. I informed the host(?) of my problem and then went to peruse the iPhones, since I was now convinced that I was done being #TeamGreenText. And I should point out at this point that I still share a plan with my parents. It’s cheaper, and if I “forget” to pay them every once in awhile, they don’t say anything. But this also means that I have to deal with my mom for phone things. So as I was deciding on the iPhone 6, I used The Protagonist’s phone to give my mom a ring.
“Hi, mom. Long story short, but my SIM card stopped working, Best Buy won’t replace it, so I’m in Verizon seeing if I can get a new phone. Just a heads up if we have to call you in a bit to confirm this. Thanks, love you, bye.”
“Wait! Josh, before you hang up. Have you done your taxes yet? Call that doctor that Gary was talking about; you need your check-up. Check your car tires – when was the last time you filled them up? Your Aunt Jan and Aunt Diane are visiting next week – can’t wait to play Rummikub! Love you too!”
So after having thirty other things be put on my plate, I sat and waited to talk with the sales rep. After about an hour, she finally came over. We were going over the ways for me to trade in my current phone (and she for sure was hitting on me), and we had pretty much finalized getting the iPhone and finally being free from shooting everybody in the face with a green text.
“So since you’re not the account manager on the account, I’m going to send the ‘3137’ number a text, and all they’ll have to do is read off the 6-digit code into the phone.”
Sweet, all my mom has to do is pick up the phone, read off 6 numbers, and then I can give my life and limb to finally have a working phone again. After a 4 hour combined trip to Best Buy and Verizon, this shit was finally going to be taken care of. Easy as pie. I used the Protagonist’s phone to call her. This conversation is going to take 30 seconds, I told myself. Lol.
“Hi mom, Verizon is going to send you a text and all you have to do is read off the code back to the sales rep. 10 seconds max.”
“Sorry Josh, your dad and I are already late bowling. I think I finally may break 70! We’ll just do this tomorrow. Gotta go!”
“But wait, mom, it’ll only take 30 –.”
Click. She had hung up. Looks like I’ll be coming back tomorrow. .