Verizon. Verizon makes me die inside, and die agonizingly slowly. Backstory: I am an old lady, so the latest I stay up during the week is usually 10:30 or 11:00pm. Then my biological clock starts screaming, "GO TO BED! You MUST go to bed!" But last night was different. Oh yes, last night I forced myself to stay awake until after midnight by re-reading the very end of Harry Potter again (I know, I'm obsessed, and I cried almost as hard as I did the first time). As soon as the clock struck twelve, I bolted out of bed and plugged in my new iPhone. Hurrah! It lit up! I followed all the steps, entered all the required information, and basically signed my soul over to AT&T for the rest of my mortal days. The only problem was that my current provider was Verizon. I knew this would somehow cause trouble.
And low and behold, I was right! Because (up until this morning) I was still on a family plan with my mom and sister, I had no idea what the billing password was for my phone. So I entered it wrong when I registered my iPhone, and therefore have been unable to receive any calls all day. My mom is out of town visiting my grandparents, and try as I might I could not find hide nor hair of any password in her neatly-marked Verizon file folder when I went home for lunch today. So I called and left about 35 frantic messages on her phone, because I had this awful feeling I wouldn't find it before midnight tonight, and then Verizon would somehow rope me into another year-long contract, or charge me some ridiculous fee, or sell me into white slavery, or something equally heinous. I tried calling Verizon to get them to tell me the password, though I knew the unreasonably-unfriendly man wouldn't give me the information I needed. Maybe I should have called and pretended to be my mom, but at that point, I was crazed with hunger and needed to make a grilled cheese before I said something to the Verizon biotch that I would regret.
Thankfully, Mom called me back half an hour ago, and I calmed down a lot and then reassured her that no, nobody was in moral peril, no houses were burning down, there hadn't been any fires or visits to the emergency room, and no gypsies had stolen our belongings (don't ask). So she calmed down too. I guess all those messages I left had freaked her out a little. And wouldn't I know it, the password I had been on a quest to find was actually the last four digits of our home phone number. Of course. I mean, why not be a little more obvious and make it our street number? I should have known that the password would be staring me in the face the whole time.
Anyway, I called AT&T back and worked everything out, and now my iPhone is working beautifully.
But this still doesn't really assuage the fact that last night, I had a dream that The Verizon Guy and his band of un-merry electricians and customer service reps were running after me, waving pitchforks and torches with pure malice in their eyes. Any man who can somehow be in an unidentifiable city and in Monument Valley at the same time (see pic above) must have some kind of black, evil powers.
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