Dispatch from the Desktop 2

While the computer is cooperating, let's continue.

I don't like cell phone stores. They creep me out. There's just something about the dudes who work there.

I'm not a fuddy-duddy. I like having a cell phone. It's a great technology and they just keep getting better. I guess what I don't like is how the cell phone companies have successfully tapped in to -- and helped expand exponentially -- our human weakness for the latest, greatest, sleekest, shiniest thing. There's always something new and better and faster, and I'm not ashamed to admit I want it, too. I just don't get it. I end up getting whatever comes free with my contract renewal, which is usually about seven months behind the coolness curve. Way too late.

Then you've got the guys who work at these places. I confess, at my lowest depth of unemployment misery I briefly considered applying for a cell phone job. They're always hiring, but I had a vision of myself wearing a bright, primary color polo shirt, a Blackberry strapped to my khakis, and one of those ridiculous Star Trek blue-tooth ear pieces, so I put down the resume and went back to Regis and the leftover box of wine.

So, in an attempt to put a Band-Aid on our laptop issue, yesterday I went to the big Verizon store to check out those mini-notebooks they're selling for $199. I told myself I would just look at it and not engage any of the salespeople. I know they're hungry. I know they probably hate their jobs. And I know the only thing separating us is a glass of watery chablis in the morning and a nap.

After seeing the little laptop wasn't what I was looking for, I decided I needed to know about Verizon's internet service. I spotted one of the sales guys milling about. The only difference between him and the vision I had of myself was the polo was replaced with a long-sleeved button-down, which I think meant he was a manager.

Anyway, the point of this whole story is just to share the conversation I had this guy.

"Hi, how ya doing?" I said.

"Hey, are you Randy?" he asked.

"No, I'm not Randy."

"Oh. Are you Rick?"

"No, I'm not Rick."

"Well, who are you?"

"I'm Greg and I have a question."