That's Life: Can't Get Connected
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But in those early days of widowhood, I did find it a bit unnerving that no one would be at home waiting for me to return from running errands, taking a walk, visiting friends ... I, therefore, became the owner of a cell phone.
Now seven years later, I have yet to learn how to use all of the features of my newest cell phone; it is equipped to do almost anything, except turn the lights on and off. I suppose that would constitute an infringement on the copyright for "The Clapper."
I would have been spared frustration and worry if my cell phone had not rung the Friday in December that I was eagerly anticipating the arrival of my son, his wife and their children, aged 1 and 3.
My son planned to drive from Long Island, where he lives with his family, to my home in Williamstown on Thursday, but car trouble forced him to postpone the trip. "I'll rent a car, and we'll leave here at noon tomorrow," he had said, calling from Long Island.
Friday, my cell phone had gone silent by the time I retrieved it from my handbag. I brought up the menu and found that a message had been recorded at 12:38. Attempting to access the message, I pressed buttons and arrows on the keypad, to no avail.My imagination taking flight, I feared my son had called to tell me something had happened to cause him to further delay or even cancel the trip. I pictured the children sick with a stomach virus and my son involved in a traffic accident, as he was driving a vehicle with which he was not familiar.
I contacted my wireless service supplier, seeking assistance in accessing the message on my cell phone. I was greeted with the mantra, "Your call may be monitored for quality assurance purposes." Then a recorded voice commanded: press 1 for billing, press 2 ... (ad nausea).
Eventually, my call reached a representative who spewed questions, including "What is your name, address, cell phone number, password, where did you purchase your cell phone? " (I felt like I was in a James Bond movie, portraying a spy being interrogated by captors.)
After taking advantage of a chance to explain why I was calling, I added that I would have consulted the owner's operating instructions, which are contained in a 2-inch by 3-inch, 80-page manual, but the print ... The representative finished my sentence "is too small to read." Continuing, she said, "A lot of customers complain about that."
Though she was supposed to transfer my call to technical support, she evidently did not do that correctly, as the call was disconnected.
So, I had to start all over. This time, I had to wait awhile to speak to a representative, as they were all busy taking care of other customers, a recorded voice said. And about every second or so, I was assured "Your call is important to us ... ."
The representative who finally took my call managed to transfer it to technical support. Hallelujah
"Please, just tell me quickly how to pick up a message," I blurted to the technical adviser. But I was not shown any mercy, instead being required to repeat all the information I already had given to the representative earlier.
Next, the technical adviser asked if there was another phone on which he could reach me. "You'll be able to listen to me on that phone, while following my instructions on the use of your cell phone," he said.
His first question when he contacted me on my land line phone was "Do you want to retrieve a text message?"
"Well, I don't think so. I have never received one, " I replied.
Then as I cradled the land-line phone on my shoulder, held the cell phone in my left hand, my right hand poised over it ready to press buttons on the keypad — my call was disconnected!
I wanted to scream, but I knew I had to calm down for my own good. After I listened to Enya's CD "Watermark" and sipped a cup of tea, it occurred to me that I should call Christopher. Why I had not thought of that before I do not know — perhaps my mind had been filled with imaginings, leaving no room for a rational thought.
Because Christopher did not answer his cell phone, I recorded a message on his voice mail: "I can't pull up the message you left on my cell phone. Please call me on my home phone."
About 10 minutes later at 3 o'clock, Christopher called. "[The car rental company] let me down," he said. "We didn't get a car until 2:30. We are leaving now." When I asked if he had received my message, he said, "No." Then he added, "Oh, I got a new cell phone for Christmas. My new number is ... ."
Once we were together, we had a great time. (But that's a story for another time.) And Christopher accessed the message I had been unable to find: "Lorraine, I don't know what lesson I am supposed to teach at Bible class. Please call me." I have no idea who made the call or who Lorraine is.Whoever received the message I intended for my son may be curious about who I am. Hmm, I could call again and solve the mystery for him or her.
