My cell phone unceremoniously died a quick death last week, dying in its sleep and leaving me feeling crummy because as luck would have it, the kids would suffer some schoolyard bloodfest/bone break, and I would be tralala, gallivanting about town.
(School secretary sighs and whispers under her breath: bad mom*. That's how I picture it anyway.)
So I dial up T-Mobile - with my land line - and prepare for a drone-like response, to suffer through a litany of unhelpful suggestions, like 'is it charged?' or some such nonsense. Lately, my customer service experiences have been lacking.
I explain my dead phone and I am greeted with coos and 'oh nos' and sweet sympathy and though I know that she is paid to be so damn nice to me, I can't help but picture the two of hitting it off for coffee or maybe wine. Even when she told me to bury my old phone and buy a bright new shiny one, she sounded so sorry I'm out a phone and some cash, I swear she was in fact sincere, and if she's feigning said sincerity? I don't care.
I like me some kindness.
Days later, I called - again - and spoke to another rep, equally friendly and inquisitive about my day. I all but laid on my couch to spill my guts because I've paid for less attentive therapy.
Now my phone works swimmingly and I'm out of reasons to give them a ring.
Maybe we could hang out, friend each other on Facebook, leave each other insufferably cheerful notes.
They would help me solve *my* world's irritations: Bickering kids, pooping dogs, sore knees.
There would be nodding and 'there, theres'. The word 'awesome' tossed around when I did the things I should.
Or at least I'd like to think so, if I ran away with T-Mobile.
*Not that Bad Mom. That would be complimentary and completely welcomed, phone or no phone.