The Phones

So, I decided to come into the twenty first century for a bit of novelty. I cancelled my old, hand crank, candlestick, land line phone and upgraded to an alleged smart phone. I kept my carrier, AT&T because, well, I still remember when they were the Phone Company and I have nostalgia for Ma Belle, ringey-dingey, and all that (now, who remembers that reference?)

So, the AT&T store person filled me in on all the options, laid before my feet like virgins on the precipice of a volcano. I decided on a Samsung 3 something phone because it would fit in my pocket and still give me the portable power of the gods that I so richly deserved. I had seen Harryhausen movies. What could go wrong?

The Phone Chores looked up and said, Eh?

The phone lady said that they didn't have the latest glorious incarnation of the Galactic 3 phone but that I could just go buy one from Walmart, bring it back, and they could imbue it with the fire of the gods for me. I wanted to be sure I had a current vessel of imbuing.

And here the Phone Chorus sang out: Gods don't just imbue anybody with anything. Take my word for it.

So I went and bought a Samsung 3 something phone from Walmart and brought it back to Ma Belle. I specifically asked, Is this the right phone? Of course! she said, and did all the magic, configuring my new phone, creating a brand new vessel of prayer and supplication, ex nihilo, and Poof! I was connected to the Ethereal Heights!

I could call people. The Phone Chorus smirked.

So, I went home and started adding the shrines to the lesser deities; Google, Facebook, Email. And the minor helper spirits from the Halls of App; flashlight, Uber,  Hulu. And all was good.

The Phone Chorus looked at each other and shrugged.

Until. I had one function that didn't work. So I went back to the Temple of Telecommunication and asked, What gives? I had presented my supplications to the Oracle of Google, but to no avail. So the Priestesses of Belle laid their hands upon my holy relic and drove out the demons of miscommunication. Or they found the right option in settings, maybe. I didn't care. As long as I could connect its blue teeth to my car and play show tunes. So I was on my way.

He'll be back, intoned the Phone Chorus.

Another time I couldn't use voice mail, so they exorcised that malicious spirit. Then, today, I couldn't access the Internet without a hotspot, even though I was paying for a Trinity of Gigs every month. So back to the techno-temple to supplicate, Um, why doesn't the damn thing work?

The Phone Chorus sang out; What, miracles you expected?

This time I got a real answer. I had the wrong phone.

Huh?

The phone I had was for Verizon. It was not compatible with AT&T. Then why didn't they catch that little theological heresy two weeks ago when I specifically asked if I had the right phone, and send me back to get the right phone instead of this abomination to the high heavens?

It was at this point that the Phone Chorus started singing about what jerks the gods are.

So I brought my pathetic, Protestant Verizon phone back to Walmart and asked to transsubstantiate it into a holy, Catholic phone, which they did after expressing righteous indignation that AT&T was even able to get the damned thing to work at all. Black magic must have been in there someplace. You have to have the underworld to be a good story.

The Phones chirped something about hubris and call waiting.

So now, I have the right engine of supplication, 24/7, in my pocket. My own household god accepting my worship and milliwatts of power in return for 4G, Internet, Google, Voice and data, email, and all the modern liturgy of the congregation of the faithful.

And the Phone Chorus sang about connection errors, or something. Fucking frogs.

The Phones, Reprise

So, the gods granted poor Oedipus salvation, 4g, voice, and a thinking machine in the Macintosh. I should be suspicious. And so it is.

And the phones sing out: You thought we were done with you, huh?

I get a call from a robot. My mourning is interrupted by my TARDIS ring tone (Look! My ride is here!)

The Phones smirk. Karmic humor is our business, Bozo.

Madam robot informs me that she is not a telemarketer, prank call, or Nigerian Prince(ss.) She's just giving me a friendly reminder that my cyclical payment is past due. The one for the very phone I am being reprimanded on by her. I can stay on the line, exchange gold, place my first born, bound, on a hilltop, or avenge wrongs done against the gods in payment, though a credit card would work, too. Please have your phone number and last four digits of your Sosh ready. An agent will take your call directly.

Phones: Ya. We're bureaucratic, too. You should see the paperwork.

Tacky phone music plays. And an ad for something I, surprisingly, already own.
Hello! I'm Valerie. How can I help you? What do you know? A Madam Person!

Phones: Hah! Now the slaughter commences.

Oh, hello. I've been an at&t customer since it was AT&T. Back when Lily Tomlin was in diapers. Recently I upgraded to a smart phone with all the trimmings. I thought my account was already set up to charge my KarmaKard for monthly payments. It looks like something didn't hook up right.
No problem. I can set that up for you. We're sorry for the inconvenience.

The Phones were off shooting craps in an alley.

Madam Person Valerie brings up my account. Checks for unforgivable sins, or maybe credit score, then takes my incantation, full name, expiration date, security code, next of kin.
Great! I'll just rustle up the billing elementals... This will just take a moment.

The Phones say: Yah. Right.

Time passes, as is it's want.

And passes.

And wants.

Gee, said Madam Human. This is taking longer than usual. I make small talk. Her accent sounds southern, so I say I hope she missed the hurricanes. She says she did. I say I'm in New England and might get a brizzle tomorrow. That's a bit of a drizzle. She responds..., respondingly.

The Phones are like: Come on. You Mortals aren't supposed to, like, get along or relate to each other as real people or stuff. IRONIC BETRAYALS! Don't you sock puppets read the classics?

Valerie comes back and says the billing system is down. She is very sorry but I am welcome to call back later or go online if I have an account. I thank her and we exchange niceties as humans in a chaotic world are want to do. That's what makes the world nice.

The Phones look glum. What, no Peloponnesian war? No blood feud started solely on a misunderstanding? No jealous gods shoving it down each others throats?

Fuck, I need a real job.

International Chapter

So I got my inspiration instrument, or 'smart' phone, connected to the greater ethereal plane, plasma, stuff. I can do international dialing, text, and crap now. Voice is a dollar a minute. Text is free. Oh, I just have to turn off roaming (Rome-ing? How unmythological!) I'm all set for my Ireland trip.

Three..., two..., one...

What, no snarky karma trash talk from the Phone Chorus? Where tf are you guys, anyways? Come on. I did something. Now come tell me that the gods are furious and I must be punished or that I am destined to go back in time, swap out a y chromosome in my mothers womb, marry the resulting female me and that I will be the offspring of said abomination. What? You never thought of that one? Come on! It's your job to come up with ironic, self referential punishments! Do I have to do all your work for you? Are you guys 'Not in Service' or what?

Oh. Off tormenting some poor sap is Sarasparilla-ville, eh? He put the stamp on upside down for his final Hades insurance payment and it can't be delivered? Eternal torment and all that? All for the lack of perspective? And you don't have any backup to spare on me, huh? Don't give me that budget cuts crap! Bureaucratic error. Not my job, outsourced gods, etc. Alright. I'll wait. Play some musac. That's eternal punishment enough.

What's a guy got to do to get his karmic comeuppance, anyway?

Amateurs.