The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written (36 page)

BOOK: The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written
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Oh, bully, will we have scones and tea and discuss the thrilling retreat to Dunkirk while we wait?
“You mean I just can’t go pick out a phone and pay for it over there?” He pointed to a long counter, a few customers milling about in front of it, a few workers professionally milling around behind it.
No nametags on them either. What’s up with that?


Um, no, sir,” the girl said. “You have to go through the queue.”


Why?” Johnny asked.


It’s more efficient, sir,” the girl said.

Johnny wanted to tell the girl that a store, by definition, actually allowed customers to shop, put their purchases in a cart or basket, stand in line, and pay for their purchases. “How long will the wait be?”


Oh,” the girl said, “not long. It’s Tuesday.”

Johnny didn’t appreciate the vagueness of her answer. “About how long exactly?”


Oh,” the girl said, “I couldn’t tell you. Could be ten minutes, could be twenty. It depends on what the customers in front of you are here for today.”

There’s a Wal-Mart right behind us, and I could just use the U-Scan.
“Does Wal-Mart sell cell phones?” Johnny grimaced in his head.
Of course Wal-Mart sells cell phones. They sell everything China makes now.


They do,” the girl said, “but they don’t come with the Verizon network.”

Johnny didn’t want any phone that came with a couple thousand people following him around.
I don’t think Gloria would like me making a call from my car with all those creepy people in the back seat.


If you have any other questions,” the girl said, “don’t hesitate to ask. I’m Ruth Ann.”

No wonder she’s not wearing a nametag. Who names their kids “Ruth Ann” these days?
“Um, nice to meet you, Ruth Ann. So I just wait until …”

Ruth Ann seemed to sigh. “Dan, a member of our sales staff, will call your name when it’s your turn.” She looked up at the monitor. “You’re right after Carl.”

Johnny stood by the festive fake holiday shrubbery and other somewhat Christmas-like decorations in the middle of the store so he could watch both the service and sales sides of the store. Like a good sheep, he waited to hear the sound of his name and whispered, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not fidget in the queue …”

After thirty minutes, Dan called out for the top name—Herb—and a dumpy man in a Virginia Tech sweatshirt approached Dan with his phone.
Herb needs to be in the service queue, not the—
Oh. He’s upgrading. Never mind. But that makes me the fourth person in line, not the third. Ruthie Ann lied to me.

After forty-seven minutes, Johnny had to pee. “Ruth Ann, do you have a restroom?”


No,” Ruth Ann said. “But Subway does.”

Johnny wanted to ask where Verizon Wireless employees peed, but that would have been rude.
I’ll bet they have to put their names in the queue, too.
“But I might lose my place in line.”

Ruth Ann looked up at the monitor. “I doubt it.”

Johnny rushed to the Subway to wait in another queue behind other Verizon Wireless customers. Unlike the electronic line at the wireless store, the queue at Subway actually moved.

Johnny ran back to the Verizon store in time to see his name move to the top of the queue. He watched Carl, who was about seventy yet wearing high-top Nikes and black socks—
my kind of fashion whiz!—
buying his phone, or trying to, for the next twenty-three minutes.

Note to self: Do not “shop” at a Verizon Wireless store on a Tuesday or any day ending in the letter Y.

Carl talked too much. Dan the salesman talked too much. They talked to each other too much. They talked to the phones too much. They looked at every phone in the store, and as soon as Carl decided on a phone—“This is the one!”—Dan would point out another phone with more bells, whistles, and features not even James Bond could use during a movie. Carl asked the same stupid questions for each phone: “Does it have text? Does it have a three-point-oh mega-pixel or higher camera? Can I play games on it? Does it have streaming video? Can I listen to music with it? Will it connect to the Internet? Does it come with cool ring tones?”

Geez,
Johnny thought,
read the descriptions on the stands, Carl. Who cares if it’s a Blackberry, blueberry, or strawberry? Just buy the stupid thing! It’s just a phone. It’s not as if you’re buying a freaking car or a house!

When Carl and Dan finally went to the sales counter, Johnny blew out a stale breath.
I could have slaughtered the cow, harvested the wheat, baked the bread, cooked the beef, made my own sandwich, and eaten an entire healthy meal at Subway by now.

Then Johnny sensed danger. He stared at Dan, and Dan wasn’t moving. Dan stood dumbly behind the counter staring at a computer screen. Other Dan-like workers were doing the same thing. Johnny knew that stare. It meant that the computers were “down.” It meant they were waiting for the computers to “come back up.” It meant they were saying, “Gosh, golly gee, we’re just standing here looking flummoxed and flusterated while we wait for these here computers to come back on line, so you customers just stand there looking foolish and stamp your hooves in the queue while we wait and act like we know what we’re doing but we’re basically helpless automatons because we worship these computers that sometimes work when we want them to …”


Not yet,” Dan said.

Johnny drifted closer to see if, indeed, this was the problem. Carl tried repeatedly to scan his credit card in the card reader in front of him, and Dan kept shaking his head.


Um, sir,” Dan said, “the system won’t take anyone’s credit card at this time. The holidays, you know.”

Oh sure, blame the holidays,
Johnny thought.
You’re simply not ready for the bleeding holidays. Right-oh, just blame your stupid computer network!


If you pay cash, however,” Dan said to Carl, “I think we can swing it.”

Oh, this is such a scam,
Johnny thought.
Act like the credit card readers are fouled up so you can save the three percent Visa charges you.

But Carl doesn’t have any cash. Carl doesn’t carry cash. Carl never carries cash. Carl hasn’t carried cash since Ronald Reagan was only making movies. Carl is as angry as any high-tops- and black-socks-wearing old guy can be right now, saying, “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” and “For the love of Mike!”

Johnny immediately wondered who Pete and Mike were, but more importantly, he wondered if Pete or Mike could hear old Carl. Maybe Carl is part of a New Age religion for single-syllable deities who don’t use their full, given names.


You mean to tell me,” Carl said, “that I spent all this time
not
buying a phone?”

Johnny had a new respect for Carl. The man has read my mind.
Hail Pete and Mike!


We’ll try it one more time,” Dan said. “Let me scan it this time.”

Carl stepped back from the counter. “I slid it in and brought it out correctly.”


No,” Dan said, “I’ll scan it through my reader on this side.”

Oh, so
your
reader might work,
Johnny thought.
Why didn’t you tell Carl that in the first place?
I can’t believe you embarrassed the old guy like that, Dan. How freaking unprofessional. Pete and Mike are going to smite you.

Carl handed his card to Dan, and Dan zipped it through. “That seemed to do the trick.” Dan smiled. Then Dan frowned. “Nope. Didn’t take. Um, there’s an ATM just down the street.”


What?” Carl asked.

What?
Johnny thought.
And now Carl is saying my thoughts before I can think them. Who says the old and smartly dressed don’t have mental powers!

Carl threw up his hands. “Gimme my card back.”

Dan held the card out, and Carl snatched it from him.


I don’t mind waiting for you to get back from the ATM, sir,” Dan said.


I do,” Carl said.


I can save all your information right here,” Dan said. “So when you come back—”


My information is in that computer,” Carl interrupted, “but you can’t get that computer to put my information to any use.”


It’s the holidays, sir,” Dan said. “Our system always slows to a crawl during the holidays. If you come back after the holidays—”


I need this phone so I can survive the holidays!” Carl interrupted.


Well, the system will be much faster by mid-January—”


And by then I’ll have a contract with a different wireless company!” Carl yelled. “Why would I ever come back?”


Because we have the best network, sir,” Dan said.

Carl looked at the customers around him. “And the worst computer system. Nice combination.”

Johnny wanted to applaud Carl, shake his hand, and take him out to lunch at Subway, but Carl stormed out looking suddenly like General George S. Patton in those high-tops.

Dan looked up at the monitor. “Johnny?”

Johnny stepped forward. “I have cash,” Johnny said. “I don’t even own a credit card, never have, never will. I cannot even spell A-T-M.”

Dan blinked and took several halting breaths. “Um, how may I help you?”

Johnny put both hands on the counter. “I just want a phone, Dan, a communication device. I don’t need to take pictures, listen to music, surf the Internet, send text messages, play games, watch videos, or have a blue wart-like appendage on my ear that looks like a prop from Star Trek. I don’t even need voice mail. I just want a phone, Dan, a real American phone made in Asia. Do you have any of those, Dan?”

Dan’s eyes shot up and stayed there. “We used to have something like that.”

I don’t believe this.
“Used to?”

Dan’s eyes found Johnny. “We used to carry the LG Migo. It was for children. It could receive incoming calls, but it could only dial out four pre-programmed numbers.” Dan shook his head. “But it was lime green.”

It would have matched the Vega!
“Why’d you stop selling such an excellent and functional phone, Dan?”


It was lime green,” Dan smirked.

Johnny didn’t join Dan in his smirk.


But seriously, even seven-year-olds want more than just a phone, sir,” Dan said.


But seriously, Dan, that was all I needed,” Johnny said. “Does anyone sell something like the Amigo?”


The LG Migo.”

Whatever, amigo.


I think AT&T carries the Firefly.”

And I passed an AT&T store on my way here. I used to like catching fireflies, so it must be fate. I will go to AT&T.
“What time is it, Dan?”


A little after eleven,” Dan said.

Johnny smiled. “Dan, I have just spent an hour and a half not buying a phone. Is that some sort of record for you?”

Dan didn’t respond.


That’s two customers in a row not satisfied by you, Dan. I’ll bet, however, that’s not a record for you, Dan.”

Dan blinked.


By the way, Dan,” Johnny said, backing away from the counter, “that excuse about the holidays slowing down your computers is freaking lame and you know it. Your whole computer network is antiquated, outdated, and crap.”

A small crowd inched toward Johnny.

I have an audience. They can hear me now. Cool. And now for the
coup d’ grace. “And that’s why you’re raising your rates so you can replace this constipated system with an equally constipated system in the future. It’s the holidays, my arse, you queue-spewing, Asian-phone selling behemoth. Happy holidays, Dan.”

Johnny spent another hour or so at the AT&T store, but because he didn’t have to pee, he enjoyed the wait. He purchased a blue Firefly, signed up for two years, and programmed the only four numbers he knew or needed while the Vega warmed up.

BOOK: The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written
10.33Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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