The Twilight Phone

This week I finally had to cave in and become a normal member of society. My wife is due to have another baby in March and we decided together (meaning she decided) that we ought to get cell phones. This way when she goes into labor, no matter where I am, I’ll be able to respond in a matter of minutes from the time I actually turn my phone on and check my messages. All in all it was a pretty good experience, though it had it’s annoyances.

First, I had to write my name on a list that looked suspiciously like a petition to have land based phone lines banned from the city. Then I had to stand around, party style, staring at cell phones that easily cost more than the last car I bought. 45 minutes later, someone named “Chad” finally called my name.

Chad very much wants to be of assistance. He asks me what he can help me with today. I tell him I want a cell-phone and he gets a look in his eyes like a starved pit bull seeing an 12oz porter house.

“O.K.” he says, “First we’ll have to run a credit check!”

Chad clacks away at his key board while asking me ridiculous questions like ‘what was my mother’s maiden name?’ I’ve never understood this question. Is he trying to figure out whether I have Gypsy blood? Finally Chad sends my information off to a computer, who a minute later reports definitively that I, despite having reasonable credit, am deceased.

“It says here, Mr. Nettleton that you’re dead”, Chad says with solemn conviction.

For a second I believe him. I can here the eerie theme music playing and Rod Sterling’s voice announcing, “Young Danny Nettleton is about to find out that there is no cell phone service in… THE TWILIGHT ZONE (dee dee deedee dee dee deedee dummmmm).”

“Could you double check that,” I ask, trying not to appear rude, “I’m pretty sure I’m alive. Maybe you spelled my name wrong. A lot of people do that. It‘s Nettleton not Middleton.”

“No, it goes by social security number. Let me try… hmmm… (clacking away at keys) hmmm. Yeah, you’re dead. Sorry.”

“Does this mean I can’t buy a cell phone?”

Chad laughs. “No, this just means we have to sell you a ‘Go Phone’, now what kind of plan do you want?”

Picking a cell phone plan easily passes the mathematical portion of the SATS as the most complicated thing I’ve ever had to do. I hope, for all of our sakes, that unlocking the nuclear football isn’t this confusing. There are, as far as I can tell three basic plans and the only discernable difference is the prices:

39.99 a month. 400 any time minutes. 200 roll over min. 20 personal minutes. 100 nation-wide minutes. 60 funeral minutes. 80 birthday minutes. 100 statewide minutes. 2 mobile to mobile minutes. 40 frequent flier points.

49.99 a month. 700,000 any time minutes. 400 roll over minutes. 500 nation wide minutes. 400 mother in law minutes. 60 chill out minutes. 300 international minutes. 3,000 latin lover minutes. 800 night time minutes. 5 golden rings. 40 day minutes. 30 midnight minutes. 20 mobile to mobile minutes. And free calls to Topeka Kansas.

69.99. A pigeon named “Carlo” and a pad of paper.

Each time I put a finger on a plan that I thought I understood, Chad winced as If I were making a fatal chess error. Finally, I signed up for the most expensive plan and I was ready to actually pick out my phone.

This part I had a pretty good handle on. I wanted a cell-phone used for making phone calls. That was it. They tried to interest me in Blue Berries, Black Jacks, and Black Beards, but I wasn’t going to have it. My fear was that I was going to be tricked into walking out of the store with some sort of gadget that could download music, take pictures and videos, get emails, play games, organize my schedule, wake me up in the morning, and make my coffee but wouldn’t actually be able to make phone calls. I also worried that I would wind up with one of those silly microphone ear pieces my friends all have that from one angle make them look like they should be playing key board 15 years ago for New Kids On The Block, and from the other make them appear to be the guy in the park yelling at the trash cans.

“What kind of phone do you want?”, Chad asks.

Now it’s my turn to have fun.

“What kind did that guy use to tape Saddam Hussein’s execution?”

Chad stares at me blankly. “I’m… I’m not exactly sure.”

“It was just such good quality, not at all grainy like the one that filmed Kramer ranting in that Comedy Club.”

“umm. We have some good camera phones.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just take this one right here.”

“Are sure ? It doesn’t have a lot of features.”

“I’m dead. Who am I going to text message?”

“O.K. are you going to pay cash or credit.”

“That depends”

“Depends on what?”

“What’s your mother’s maiden name?