Just an hour and a half before quitting time and my Motorola Drois goes nipples up on me. I seemed totally bricked. I assumed the battery had died, so i plugged it into the charger at my desk. Nada. No lights, no bells, no whistles.
I tried my car charger.
Great, I said to myself, this thing has been dependable from day one, but now that I’m going to what could be my last opportunity ever to see Meat Loaf in concert it decided to commit suicide. Not to mention that I have my work and personal email, office and mobile work numbers and personal mobile numbers all ringing to the Droid via the magic of Google Voice. In that tiny package lies all my ability to communicat with anyone beyond shouting distance. Or vice versa.
So I hit the door, knowing at 3 PM that I have a conference bridge to be on for work at 4 PM. Can’t skip it, I’m the leader.
3 to 4 was my only opportunity to get the Droid replaced at the Verizon store, considering there’s no telling how long my conference call will be and the Perl/Meat Loaf concert at House of Blues starts at 7 PM. I hit the parking lot and swung a leg over BB, then roared down Hwy 114 to Grapevine. Ten minutes later I was in my local Verizon store, anxiously watching the clock as I waited in the queue for the tech to call my name.
5 minutes after that it was 3:15 and the guy calls my name. I stroll rapidly to the counter and some broad steps in between us to ask the guy how long she has to wait. The tech asks her name, she tells him, and he says, “You’re next in line after this gentlman.” as he nods toward me.
“Well, how long is that going to be?” she asks him.
“I dunno…depends on what the issue with this gentleman’s phone is.”
As I contemplate whether it would be a sin to yank her away from the counter by the hair of her head she says, “Well, the girl at the front of the store said the wait would only be about five minutes. It’s been over ten.”
I couldn’t stand it. “Lady, you came in after me and I’ve only waited five minutes. The sooner you get out of the way and let the guy help me the sooner he’ll be able to help you.”
She spun around, blurted an expletive at me, and stormed out the door.
It reminded me of some of those women who called us on family violence assault case when I was a cop. Sometimes as I was handcuffing the wife beater and listening to the woman I just had to think to myself, “I’d have a hard time not knocking the ^(*&%% out of you, too, if I was your husband.”
The tech, seemingly oblivious to the whole incident, took my phone, pulled and re-seated the battery, then hooked it up to his charger. Blip. It cranked right up.
“You’re battery is just dead.”
“Naw,” I replied, I did the same thing you did and it still wouldn’t start charging or come on.”
“Well, you must have a bad charger, then.” He said.
“Not unless I have a bad wall charger and a bad car charger,” said I, “I tried both.”
Well, it’s working now,” He said, giving me the ol’ “I ain’t giving you a new phone.” stare.
I needed to get to the house and on a reliable phone for my bridge, so I decided I didn’t have time to argue. I thanked him and hit the road.
Now I’m home, the Droid is charging in a cradle, and in three minutes my call starts.
All I can say is that thing better not croak in the middle of my opportunity to get pics and video of Meat Loaf live tonight, or I’ll be busting through Verizon’s doors tomorrow like a bat out of hell.