Tuesday, June 15, 2004

I hate my cell phone company. An essay

Lo, it is summer, when the air is warm and fragrant and the construction workers at my apartment complex destroy many trees in order to build more apartments.

Summer is a time when I travel. And travel I did. To the South, land of hoopskirts, really hot weather and various permutations of peanuts. The South is where I spoke, at length, on my cell phone. I love my cell phone. If I am not talking on my cell phone, I am text messaging with my cell phone. Or I am checking my e-mail or voice mail with my cell phone. My cell phone is me and I am it. Or something.

I return home, to the land of New Jersey, and apartment construction and trucks that back up and go "Beep! Beep!" till I think I will go mental. But nooooo. The mental torment was yet to come.

It arrived in the form of my cell phone bill. In the amount of $333. Yes, I had gone over my minutes. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy over my minutes. And I had forgotten to set the little timer on my phone so I didn't know how MANY minutes I was using. And it is not like the cell phone people tell you!!!!!! NO! They want even MORE minutes, for which they charged me 35 cents a minute!!!! AIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

So I can not use my cell phone. Not for a good long while. Not till I pay off the $333 bill. Which will take me all summer. Too bad cell phone people - you will have to WAIT to get your money. Because I am not talking to you.

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