I’ll Be Right Back, She Said to Me

I have the world’s oldest dumbphone. Seriously. I am pretty sure the first words ever spoken into it were, “Watson, come here. I need you.”

Consequently, I have never been able to access voice mail on the darned thing. And lately, people have been leaving me voice messages. I would like to hear them, especially the ones from the lottery corporation.

Two months ago, I phoned Virgin Mobile and asked how I could do that, because the phone was not co-operating. A polite woman told me how to do it and I thanked her. Except her instructions didn’t work. Today, I decided to phone Virgin and get this fixed once and for all. So I did.

Within the space of half an hour, I made five phone calls to the company and spoke to five different people. Once in a while I get determined and refuse to give up on a thing. The people I spoke with all gave me the same instructions which I tried and which didn’t work. It was kind of funny because each person who helped me was so confident that it would work.

Finally, I reached a very helpful woman – support person number 6, who seemed to really know the answer. She said she would reprogram my phone from her end and she led me through about five steps on the way to achieving that. She even stayed on the line while I tried the newly programmed phone but still no messages. Let me look up the manual for your phone, she said. And the line went quiet as she did that.

A couple of minutes later, I got the good old dial tone. She hung up on me. I know that she did because she asked for my cellphone number and I gave it to her. If she had been cut off accidentally, she would have called me back.

I was thinking of making a joke about Virgin and getting screwed but I won’t do that. (Too late?). My father always said the only way to punish a business is to not get mad, but instead to simply not do business with them so it might be time to take a little fatherly advice.

Reflecting on this later, I realized I had called late on a Friday afternoon, and my benefactor might have wanted to beat the traffic home. Even knowing that, however, I moved on soon after that day.

©2013 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.