Why I Don't Want To Be A Verizon Customer Anymore

So, my Samsung Galaxy S3 Mini has had problems since I bought it back in August. I don't know whether it's a horrible phone, or whether I bought a defective one, or, hell, whether I used it wrong and made it bad. (Verizon has an opinion on which of those three it is, I can tell you.)

But they were relatively minor problems, and I wrote them off -- after all, I chose the cheaper phone, and you get what you pay for, right?

So, when it started freezing almost every time I played Words With Friends, I just played WWF less often, and eventually quit altogether. When it froze and told me that 'unfortunately, messaging [had] stopped' I shut it and tried again. When it repeatedly told me (like 8 times a day) it was sorry that VZWAVS Service had stopped, I told it okay, and went on.

On Tuesday night, though (for reference it is currently Friday), it started a new game.

It said it couldn't detect a SIM card, and that it would need to restart. Okay, no prob, restart.

It did, and I noted the battery was low, so I went to plug it in. It informed me that using the wrong charger was dangerous to my device, and that, accordingly, charging had been stopped for my protection. I should please only use the charger included with my device.

This was something of a surprise, since I was using the charger that came in the box with my phone.

Okay, so I cross the room and plug in to Justin's charger. Nothing. It doesn't start charging, it doesn't talk to me about wrong chargers. After a moment, it tells me there's no SIM card.

Huh. My SIM card must be loose or something. I open the phone, take it out, look at the contact points, see no problems, put it back in. Put the battery back in, turn on the phone, and plug it in -- in the kitchen, with a Kindle charger. It charges.

In the morning (now Wednesday) I pick it up. Unfortunately, it says there's no SIM card, and my device will now restart to look for one.

Throughout the day, I google. Someone had this problem and cleaning the contact points with alcohol helped. We have no alcohol in the house, so I'm not trying that one. Someone had it and Verizon replaced their SIM card five times, and it still doesn't work. They finally had to replace the device. Someone had the same problem and their SIM card was loose - a small piece of paper tucked next to it fixed it. Someone else fixed it by blowing it out like an old Nintendo cartridge.

I tried blowing, and I tried a piece of paper. No go.

Wednesday afternoon, I needed to text Justin. I restarted the phone and sent a text. The phone announced that it had no SIM card, and that the message could not be sent. He responded to it, though, so it must've been sent.

When he got home and I had access to his phone, I called Verizon.

First I was told this would be an insurance issue -- which meant it would cost me $100. I said I ddn't have $100 to spend on it, and he said, "Oh, well, let me transfer you to tech support."

I said, "I thought you were tech support."
"Yeah, but we have tiers, so maybe a higher level than me can help you."

(Shouldn't that have been suggested BEFORE the pay-up option?)

So this guy says he'll send me a new SIM card, also that it isn't a insurance issue at all, it would be a warranty issue -- so if a new SIM card doesn't fix it, it can be replaced for free. But actually, he would rather -- instead of him sending me a new SIM, why don't I go into a store. It'll be the same thing but faster.

Going into a store means an hourish drive. I don't have the time and money to take an hourish drive right now, if I can help it. Okay, he'll send it, but I won't get it until Monday. Tough luck. If you get the chance before then, go into a store.

On Thursday, we have a water pipe bust. Unrelated, and we used Cay's phone to contact someone, but it just ticks me off that at that point, I'm paying for a phone I can't use, when I NEED it.

Also on Thursday, I remember there's another SIM card in a box in the cabinet -- because I got a new phone (not this one, an insurance replacement before it) a while back and swapped my old card into it, not realizing it had come with one. I decide to try it.

My phone is really really sorry that it can't find a SIM card, and will not be restarting to look for one.

So.....replacing SIM card? Not the fix.

Today, I decide we'll go to the aquarium, because I'm going to lose my mind if I listen to another minute of mindless television, and apparently when I wasn't looking a law got passed that the noisy idiot box has to be on 24-7.

So, we head out....and I remember there's a Verizon in KDH now. I'd forgotten. It's in the old Taco Bell building. You know what? Let's go there instead. Luckily, through sheer force of habit, my phone is in my pocket.

We go.

I explain my SIM problem. They wonder if the device is okay other than that. Well, no, now that you ask, actually I've had problems with it since I got it. What are they? Blah blah, freezing, service has quit, etc. Okay!

She tries a different SIM card. It doesn't work. Still says it can't detect a SIM.

She ends up CALLING TECH SUPPORT. Where she learns that the Google + app actually causes that VZWAV Service popup for a bunch of people, and I need to uninstall updates and also never let it update again. Here, she'll fix it for me. Now it won't update unless I give it permission.

Okay, great, so the SIM card....well, the wrong IMEI number is in the system. Here, she'll copy the one from the phone. Gosh, it's so hard to read, and looks peeled off.

I'm not sure what she's trying to insinuate here. She calls someone else over to read it for her. They pick at the corners and tell me it has peeled off.

For the record, I'm looking at it as I type this, and it isn't peeled and is clear as day to read. In the image below, I've covered a large portion of the numbers with a torn paper scrap, because I'm not clear on which, if any, of the numbers are proprietary or private in any way, but left enough you can see the numbers are readable, and that the corners aren't peeled at all. (The greenish corner isn't peeled; it's actually a greenish black color. Unfortunately these are taken with my Kindle because my camera is dead, so they're not as clear as they might be.)

After some struggle, she gets the number changed in the computer. Look! Now it works! It's even faster than it was before!

Oh! She sees the problem! It's the water damage!

Um, beg your pardon? Water damage?

Yeah, but you know, I mean, that can just happen, like, see these strips? They should look like this. She shows me the moisture sensors in my phone and hers. Hers are covered with pink x's. Mine are not. But see, she explains, even if you, like, use it in the kitchen while you're cooking, like if there's steam in the air, that can do that.

I said, "So wait, you're telling me my warranty gets voided if I basically use my phone in the kitchen?"

Well yeah, yeah, it can.

The other dude in the place rolls over, looks at my phone and says, "Nah, that was submerged. That device was submerged."

I respond. "No. The device has not been submerged."

"Yeah, cause you can tell when it's been submerged. Those pink x's are completely gone."

Look, we all know the moisture strips are a scam. Phone reps have admitted on the internet that they can go blank from being in your pocket while you work. It's bullshit. And I know this.

So now my kids speak up, clearly speculating. Maybe the baby drooled on it. Maybe the baby got it one time when I didn't know and dropped it into the sink.

They are obviously making up guesses, trying to be helpful.

But she goes, "Ohhhh, is someone making up stories? That's oddly specific."

Excuse the hell out of me? Their very diverse guesses are oddly specific? I know when I left, they said something like, "She tried to claim it wasn't submerged, but her kids told on her! Haha!"

But it was NOT! These were guesses! They made up half a dozen different things that could have happened!

There are a number of other little comments like this throughout, about the water damage, and how you just have to keep them out of the bathroom and kitchen, hahaha, and if they fall in the water, you know, that's the warranty. Understand that these nasty snipes are interspersed between comments about how beautiful my baby's big eyes are, and how well-behaved my big kids are, and similar.

So, she hands the phone to me. All fixed! I open it to take a picture of Harmony, who has been drawing with chalk and has it all over her face.

My phone is sorry it will have to restart now, because it cannot detect a SIM card.

I show the lady. Oh gosh, well, that'll all be fixed when my new one comes in the mail on Monday.

Um, wait, changing the SIM card didn't fix it before, either when you did it here or when I did it at home. Why would it fix it on Monday?

Well, she'll sell me a SIM card for $25 if I want to try it, or I can wait for Monday. Either way, she's so glad she could help me. But, it's still....I show it to her. Yep! She's got it going for me, just wait for my new card Monday and I'm all set!

Okay, but clearly the SIM card isn't the problem?

"Well, don't forget, there's the water damage too, so that probably had a part in it."

Um...bye? I leave.

Two minutes away, I'm so upset I call Verizon to cancel my line. Unfortunately, that'll cost me $160 bucks, so I don't do it. (The guy was very apologetic and did give me a $40 credit, saying maybe it would compensate me some for my time and gas for the wasted trip.)

At this point, though, I have no more use for Verizon or Samsung. This is my second Samsung phone, and the first one had issues too. I have had a very good relationship with Verizon before now. They've been excellent, fixed problems quickly, and generally not been assholes, which is more than I can say for some phone companies I've worked with. (I had an Altell rep lie to me about when my contract was up. I spoke to a different rep, and learned that it was 16 months sooner than she claimed.)

But yeah, I got basically accused of lying, and handed a 'fixed' phone that still doesn't work, and wasted four hours of my life being talked down to and nastied at. And I'm still stuck with a phone that does not work, that I have to pay for for four more months, and that won't be replaced under warranty.

Smoke and Dreams

Everything smelled like smoke and ashes yesterday. I assume someone was burning a field somewhere, although I couldn't actually see any smoke from my yard. It smelled so heavy it seemed like we should've been able to see it. It felt like little ash particles actually in my nostrils.

I fell asleep with my nose and throat burning. I am surprised I didn't dream of fire. I was thinking of fire. I was having horror fantasies that wouldn't stop about the fire, wherever it was, spreading to here.

Instead, I dreamed that NFL players were using hashtags to sneak cats into my house to harm my kids.

I had to go to twitter, limit my feed to football players only, then slowly scroll through watching for hashtags. When I found one that looked dangerous, I'd click it, and scroll through that feed, watching for NFL players who had shared photos of cats. I had to examine every photo carefully, because the cat might hide behind someone's legs or even in an image on a kid's clothes.

When I found an NFL hashtagged cat, I had to delete it, then go back to the main feed and start over, with thousands of new tweets posted since.

Herded Like Cattle

Weird dumb creepy uncomfortable dream.

I was at school, moving through the hallway. Everyone was moving through the hallway. It was a tight, uncomfortable press and I couldn't even control my movements. Couldn't speed up, slow down, or turn around if I wanted to. Everyone was going to the cafeteria on the bottom floor, and I was going too, like it or not.

I didn't like it. The stairs, which wound in a squared-off spiral, were too steep. People were moving too fast. There was constant physical contact with people I didn't know by name, Not that I could've seen them to identify them. Nothing to be seen but a rush of color and press of anonymous bodies and movement.

Someone shouted my name,and everyone stopped moving, turned to focus on me. A path cleared and some guy I didn't know, but who apparently at least knew my name, rushed through.

"I'm pretty sure this is yours."

He had a Rubbermaid sort of lunchbox that made me think of a cross between Bento and industrial. It wasn't mine.

"See?"

He opened the lid to show me the contents. In snug, side-by-side trays, there were carrots, some sort of dip, Pokemon cracker (I didn't know those existed), the tiniest tomatoes I'd ever seen, and tiny slices of cheese cut into shapes.

I said, "No, it isn't mine."

"It looks like it might be yours, though. I think it is."

I took the box and held it up and turned it in my hands. Each side had neatly printed legends, like, "I really lie Pokemon!" and "Lunch is my favorite class."

One side said, 'This lunch box belongs to:' and under it, written in blue marker, was my brother's name.

"This is Corbin's." I said. "See? His name is on it."

The guy just stared blankly, like I accidentally said 'name' in a foreign language.

"See?" I pointed again. "Corbin."

"I think it might be yours. Somebody told me it looked like yours."

I glanced around, and every face I saw looked as confused as his. This live performance was starting to be dull, now that the weird girl wasn't making sense. People started to shuffle toward te cafeteria again.

Then I spotted Corbin, and I called out his name. I said, "I think I've got your lunch box!"

He called back, "What's in it?"

I said, "Vegetables and stuff, but it's got your name on it."

"But what's in it?"

The press of people began to move me again, and I struggled to turn my body back to face the way I was going. Somehow, I managed to hold back just a little, and people jostled and crowded past until the hall was empty. I could see over the last landing's banister into the cafeteria, and watched people swarm like bugs up to the counter, then away.

I went around the last corner, and there were no more stairs. There was still a full story of distance between me and the cafeteria floor, but the stairs ended, with a jagged, ripped-off carpet hanging loosely from the last landing like it had once partially covered the last flight of stairs.

How was I to get down?

A guy I didn't know shoved past me, with an annoyed sound at my lack of motion, stepped on the hanging carpet, and slid, half sideways as though on a snowboard or skimboard, down the available length. Then he leapt off the end, landed neatly on the floor, and headed to the counter like this was the most normal thing.

I tried it, and ended up sliding backward on my stomach, grappling for a grip on the carpet to keep from sliding so fast. Then I was on my hands and knees on the floor, palms stinging.

At the counter, a serving lady handed me a tray. Somehow I couldn't see the contents. I wasn't sure if I wanted it.

"What is this?" I asked, not taking the tray.

"It's what everybody gets. You all get the same." She shoved the tray at me.

I looked around. Was there even a door? I couldn't get back up those non-stairs. How would I leave? I turned to run, with her still calling after me to assure me everyone takes a tray.

Things I Don't Write About

I wrote about Ferguson tonight.

And there are a few things I usually don't write about.

Ferguson has been one of them, for a couple of reasons. One is the reactions. It makes me ill to see people I love say things like, "Well, he provoked..." or "Well, he wasn't complying...."

I can't sit and argue that and still face those people every day.

There are other topics and other reasons, but mostly I haven't written about Ferguson.

But tonight, I wrote about Ferguson.

See, there was this group of protesters who woke up to find a noose in their camp area, and when I googled, it seemed like nobody was writing about it. How is that a nonstory?

So I messaged the youth pastor who had started sharing their story, and I got some information and shared it on, wrote it up, made it officially news on a news site on the internet in the world.

(I feel like I'm advertising but because I'm talking about it here it is. Nobody's making you click.)

And now I'm (well, not now because I got up, but a few minutes ago) lying in my bed, in my temperature-controlled environment, with my walls and ceiling and babies and safe and comfortable (moderately- two toddlers in a bed means moderately comfortable is good), while the people who are actually there, the guys who woke up to a noose, and the people who lost a son or brother or friend, are not lying in a bed with soft sheets, but walking the streets, sitting in living rooms and crying, holding hands and praying, pleading for justice (which I don't think is a possible thing here - even if an investigation proves beyond doubt that this kid never did anything worse than sticking his tongue out at his brother, nobody's gonna give him his life back, so where is justice?), pleading for change, pleading for it not to happen to another kid, pleading for something to make sense.

And I feel guilty for my vague nod to the possibility the police aren't lying about *every single* thing, because I know I'm supposed to be neutral but it's like being neutral on climate change or the sky being blue, so that I feel like I'm supposed to say, "Others argue that the sky is purple with pink polka dots, and color is subjective, but blue is consistent with the language of poem and song." And I feel for those journalists who get slammed for putting on a scientist and a creationist, because 'both sides' is an expected thing even when one is not a side at all.

I hope I gave an accurate depiction while being fair. I hope change happens. I hope Michael Brown's family gets a thing that resembles justice enough to give them some scrap of peace. It can't be more than a scrap, when you lose your baby. I can't even fathom. I look at my babies and I can't even fathom. I know that change is gonna happen, because change does, but change in forty or eighty years when it comes naturally through generations passing on and new ones seeing things differently isn't enough. A lot of people can die in 40-80 years.

What can I do? Nothing but rail and holler. But I guess I can rail and holler, anyway. Even if what I get in response makes me sick. I reckon I can take a little sick to try to make somebody's babies not die, even if it's only try. It's the tool within my reach. Rail and holler.

Words Feel Defective

Words feel defective today, like they're not doing the job they have. I love words. I love that they allow us to communicate all these subtle things, ideas, feelings, plans, directions. I love to make words happen.

But then there's that thing where you repeat a word over and over, or stare at it on a sign for a long time, and it stops making sense.

You're like, "Yield. Yi-eel-duh. Yeee-uld. Yelled? I think I forgot how to say it. None of the ways sound right anymore."

You feel like maybe you better not say 'yield' in front of anyone, because all the ways to say it sound wrong and they're probably going to laugh at you.

If your kid asked you right now what 'yield' means, you'd want to look it up to be sure you were still right, because the meaning feels gone.

Except that's how I feel right now with all words, not just one.

I want to tell a friend I'm glad a thing went well for her, and "I'm glad for you" sounds like it doesn't make any sense, even though intellectually I know it does. Those are the right words. But I have this paranoid feeling that if I type it and hit 'send' she'll message back, "What does that mean? Is that English?"

I type "I'm glad" and before I can go any further, my brain goes,

"Glad? What's that? Happy? You're happy? Or a trash bag. Glad is a trash bag. Why would you tell her you're happy? She's the one who had the good thing happen. She's happy. You're not a trash bag. That doesn't make sense. Why are you saying trash bag to her? Glad is the trash bag, right? Maybe that's the wrong word."

It's perfectly silly and I have to make words happen today for work, but my brain insists that none of them make sense.

Now, to cross my fingers that this nice informal word-making pushed me past the block.

Stupid Bad Horrible Dream

I had the most terrifying dream ever.

I was standing in the grocery store parking lot when I heard someone yell something like "It's got silver in it!" I glanced around, and realized that it was a group of three teenagers, cheering the fact that the cart they'd stolen, which they only expected to hold free food, also contained an expensive silverware set.

I looked the other way, and there was an elderly man just getting the rear hatch of his vehicle open. He reached for his cart, and looked confused for a long moment before looking around, seeing the boys transferring the contents to their own trunk, and beginning to understand.

He started to walk toward them saying something very stereotypically old-man, like "Hey, you young hooligans!"

I yelled at him to stay back, I'd call the police. He was a fairly sturdy looking old guy, but I didn't want him getting hurt trying to take his groceries back.

I pulled my phone out, and started fumbling with all the buttons and things that seem so complicated to use in dreams, and suddenly it was on the ground and I was trying to find air for my lungs.

One of the guys had rushed me, hard, and knocked the air right out of me. Now he was holding me so tightly I couldn't move or breathe.

He relaxed his hold a tiny bit and started to explain to me how we were gonna stand right here and not make any trouble while the other fellows got to a safe distance - and I broke loose from him and started to run.

So he pulled out a cattle prod, which it turns out can shoot bolts of lightningesque electricity several yards, and used it to knock me to the ground.

Lying there, I watched and waited for it to stop. When I could stand, he demonstrated to me I was in his power. He threw me the prod.

He told me to bring it to him.

Instead, I tried to shoot him with it. He just laughed as the bright yellow bolts bounced harmlessly off his body. I moved closer and closer and he continued to seem to feel nothing.

"You've built an immunity!" I gasped, finally getting it but I was within his reach by then, and then I was a captive again.

He sat me on the sidewalk in front of the store and whistled for a bunch of little kids. All these little kids, like six and eight years old, sat down in a circle around me and started laughing, some playing jacks or cards, doing whatever.

And I knew I couldn't get up and leave, because there were so many, and if I moved they'd grab at me. I could get away from them, but I'd have to hurt one or more to do it.

And I sat there while he went inside. And I sat there and waited until my mom came out of the store and told me he'd been arrested.

And we went and got into the van and listened as the news said "....but the real hero was the woman inside the store who saw something going on and called 911 quietly....." and I felt like a giant idiot, and also knew they were patting themselves on the back despite having not gotten the other two, and if I'd done it right the old guy would have his groceries and silverware.

And Mama wouldn't let me call the police to give them the additional information until we were 'back on the highway.'  I'm not sure why.

And I sat there and did what I was told.

I am tired, angry, and frustrated beyond all bounds of my ability to cope. I am tired of fighting uphill everything constantly.

I'm sick of thinking about fire.

I'm sick of worrying about custody and what's going on when the kids aren't here.

I'm tired of struggling to have the energy to get anything done.

I'm sick of family members hurting other family members, and of knowing there's only one right side, but also knowing that if I take it, people I love are going to hate me.

I wish I could just lay down and sleep for ten years or forever.