Angela Dove: Award-Winning Writer

I knew the matter was urgent, because it said so right on the envelope in red block letters. I scanned the letter. Oh, God. The worst had finally happened.

It was time to reevaluate our cellular calling plan.

My chest tightened in apprehension of the task before me. Treacherous charts listing plans that would sound so promising—Freedom Plan; Luxury Plan; Happy Family Plan (or, for those hesitant to cough up the full price of familial bliss, the Happy Family Lite).  Columns of ambiguous terms, each with a star or asterisk next to it, referring me to fine print that would explain why the chart was utterly useless.

A quick glance at my cellular company’s website let me know that my worst fears had come true. There were a whole host of questions I needed to consider. How much calling would we do? What percentage of those calls would be in-state? Out-of-state? Cell to cell? Sagittarius to Virgo? And what time of day would we be making those calls?  Would call times and volume vary day to day, week to week?

I cleared off the kitchen table and fashioned a rudimentary flow chart. By the time I finished, my left foot was on red, my right on green, and both hands were on blue. Then I toppled over with such force that I broke the cell phone in my left hip pocket.

I poured myself a stiff drink (cocoa, extra mini marshmallows) and headed to the physical location of my cell company. I milled around with the other shell shocked customers who had no doubt tried to navigate the company’s website. Eventually someone called my name.

“What can I do for you today?” asked the perky customer service representative.

“Thank God!” I said, barely refraining from hugging her. “I just needed to talk to a real person! Can you help me with calling plans?”

The woman smiled at me and shook her head a little ruefully. “The plans change pretty regularly, so your best bet is to check them out online. Besides,” she added, oblivious to my pale and shaking countenance, “you can get much better deals if you sign up online. They always offer online incentives to our most valued customers!”

“But what if I don’t want to be most valued? What if I just want to be valued lite? Could you help me then?”

Finally she took in the whole picture—my frazzled hair, glazed eyes and pale cocoa mustache.  “Oh. You’ve been online, haven’t you?”

“Yes. And I didn’t understand any of it.”

She glanced at her manager across the room and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I tried to sign my mother up online last month, and it took forever. I still don’t know if I chose the right plan.”

“Yes!” I said much too loudly. But I couldn’t help it. Here was validation of what I had been struggling with all morning!

“All right.” She made some internal decision, then reached below the counter. She came up with something roughly the shape of the Los Angeles County phone book. “Here’s the latest version of all the calling plans. I think this will make things easier for you.”

I crammed the tome under my jacket, murmuring my thanks as I headed out the door. Safe in my car, I flipped open the book. And there it was.

The same chart I’d been looking at all morning.

I sucked in a huge breath, ready to scream at the world. Then I stopped. No one should be driven to such depths of despair over something designed to make life easier. This was wrong. I let my breath out in one long, slow, exhale. Then I drove directly to the grocery store. And as I made my way toward the mini marshmallows, I passed a small trashcan into which I deposited the fragments of my cell phone.