Fuck You, Sprint
Saturday evening I noticed my phone, which I had earlier plugged in to charge, was shut off. I turned it on, it told me it was charging, and then it promptly shut off again. We did this dance several times before the little voice in my head said "hmm, I think something's wrong with this phone."
So Sunday morning I got to go to the 7th Circle of Hell (aka The Sprint Store). I handed my phone to the mildly-retarded-appearing sales flunkie, who told me to come back in half an hour. Then she tried desperately to sell me the stupid phone insurance:
MRASF: You don't have the insurance.
Me: I know.
MRASF: You should get the insurance, that way you pay--
Me: I don't want the insurance.
MRASF: But since you don't have the insurance, you could end up paying a $30-50 charge for today.
Me: I'm aware of this. I'm also aware that today's $30-50 charge is significantly less than the $150 per year I'd be paying for the insurance, not to mention the $50 "deductible" you charge just to insult my intelligence.
Stupidass bitch. Anyway, I returned in half an hour, and the MRASF handed me my phone and a different charger, explaining that the pin inside the phone had gone bad. Whatever. I took the phone home, plugged it in, and...
...same exact shit.
Now thoroughly pissed off, I headed back to the 7th Circle of Hell, where I spoke to yet another of the Dark Lord's minions. I explained to him the predicament (the geek behind the glass apparently doesn't test shit before handing it back to the unwitting customer). He took my phone and advised me to return in 15 minutes. When I returned, he told me "we're switching out your phone with this one."
What's wrong with mine?
"Well, you know, if he can't get it to come on, it's not really worth it to try to figure out what's wrong with it, so we usually just swap 'em out."
That's all well and good, except I haven't written down a fucking phone number in about two years. And since my old phone wouldn't power on, they were unable to retrieve my address book and pictures and anything else I may have had stored in its little 2x3 inch body.
Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.
Oh, well. At least my friends at Mario Badescu cheered me up today. My birthday is this month, and in a spur of marketing genius, they sent me a "happy birthday" gift card for 10 bucks. Just as I'm running out of their fabulous Buffering Lotion. Thanks, Mario!
So Sunday morning I got to go to the 7th Circle of Hell (aka The Sprint Store). I handed my phone to the mildly-retarded-appearing sales flunkie, who told me to come back in half an hour. Then she tried desperately to sell me the stupid phone insurance:
MRASF: You don't have the insurance.
Me: I know.
MRASF: You should get the insurance, that way you pay--
Me: I don't want the insurance.
MRASF: But since you don't have the insurance, you could end up paying a $30-50 charge for today.
Me: I'm aware of this. I'm also aware that today's $30-50 charge is significantly less than the $150 per year I'd be paying for the insurance, not to mention the $50 "deductible" you charge just to insult my intelligence.
Stupidass bitch. Anyway, I returned in half an hour, and the MRASF handed me my phone and a different charger, explaining that the pin inside the phone had gone bad. Whatever. I took the phone home, plugged it in, and...
...same exact shit.
Now thoroughly pissed off, I headed back to the 7th Circle of Hell, where I spoke to yet another of the Dark Lord's minions. I explained to him the predicament (the geek behind the glass apparently doesn't test shit before handing it back to the unwitting customer). He took my phone and advised me to return in 15 minutes. When I returned, he told me "we're switching out your phone with this one."
What's wrong with mine?
"Well, you know, if he can't get it to come on, it's not really worth it to try to figure out what's wrong with it, so we usually just swap 'em out."
That's all well and good, except I haven't written down a fucking phone number in about two years. And since my old phone wouldn't power on, they were unable to retrieve my address book and pictures and anything else I may have had stored in its little 2x3 inch body.
Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.
Oh, well. At least my friends at Mario Badescu cheered me up today. My birthday is this month, and in a spur of marketing genius, they sent me a "happy birthday" gift card for 10 bucks. Just as I'm running out of their fabulous Buffering Lotion. Thanks, Mario!
posted by Mitzi Green at 12:59 PM
1 Comments:
I love that on my rss feed, which puts about 20 blogs on one page and allows me to see if anyone has anything new by quickly glancing at the headlines, that I can always tell which post is yours just by the title and without looking at your blog name.
And I am so damn with you on the cell phone number thing. I had to have my fucking $600 iphone replaced, for which they do not even offer insurance thank you very much assholes, and even though I have synched it with my computer so that I don't lose all of my numbers and photos and crap, I still can't recover any of those for my new phone because the hard drive on my computer also crashed.
Sometimes technology sucks. But sometimes it lets me waste time by commenting on blogs, so I guess it's ok.
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