I Will Survive

Yesterday, I ended one of the longest relationships of my life: my cell phone provider.

Since 1993, I’ve been with the same company. It started out as Cingular One, which got bought by AT&T, which then got bought (again?) by Cingular, but whatever it is, I have never left.

In 1993, I was one of the first people to have a cell phone. My mother bought me a gigantic grey Motorola phone (the latest and greatest at the time) and I paid $39.95/month for up to – get this – FIVE WHOLE MINUTES PER MONTH. Every minute thereafter was like $4.56 and did not include any phone sex.

My customer loyalty to my cell phone company went unrivaled for the next 13 years. I was completely committed. Of course, I have gone through probably 10 different cell phones in that time, but those were just playthings, things that kept our relationship lively. The important thing was that I have always been a one-cell phone company woman.

And then I moved to Chicago.

As you may recall, I recently bought a lovely pink Motorola Razr. I loved it, I bought the matching Bluetooth headset in pink, and I was one well-coordinated cell phone woman. When I got to Chicago, however, I quickly discovered that I had maybe one bar in my apartment, making it virtually impossible to call anyone. I kept thinking, “Oh, this is just a passing phase. My cell phone is just getting used to being in Chicago. Pretty soon he’ll have lots of bars!”

No matter how many calls I missed from family, friends or potential employers/lovers, I hung in there, not wanting to give up on my longest relationship. I called Cingular many times, trying to figure out how to fix our relationship, only to find out I was in cell phone coverage no-man’s land – “a cross between orange and blue” they said. (I am assuming they meant the area Cingular and AT&T didn’t quite cover, and they were not referring to my former state’s overly-beloved football team’s colors.)

I kept calling Cingular, though, and they kept resetting my phone to somehow get better reception. But each time I called, it seemed like I would lose another feature. I stopped getting text messages, then I stopped being able to send them, and then photo mail wouldn’t work. No matter how much I reached out for help to save this flailing cell service, nothing worked.

After one particular long and frustrating phone call, the Cingular rep quietly told me, “I’m sorry it’s not working. We’ve done all we can. I just want you to know that it’s okay if you want to turn in your phone and sign-up with another service. You have until June 2nd to do so without a penalty.”

Sign up with another service? Are you kidding me? I’ve been with Cingular for 13 years! And now because Cingular is having coverage issues, I am the one who is supposed to leave??? I told him, “It will be a cold day in hell before I leave you!” and I hung up.

And it seemed to get better for a while. If I stood at my window in the living room facing the street in a northwest manner while slowly rotating counter-clockwise in 30-second intervals, I could get two bars and check voicemail. But it was not to last. My two bars quickly went to one bar, which then quickly went to no signal. I was on my last straw.

On May 31st, with less than 48 hours left to get out of my contract without a hefty penalty, I called Cingular and said, “Let’s give it one last shot, shall we?” Cingular reset the phone and I tried again to get the ever-elusive signal that had been so abundant when we were together in Colorado.

I took my phone into every room of my 1600 square-foot apartment. Surely I could find some strong signal in a big town like Chicago! I didn’t care if I had to stand with one foot on the toilet and my left hand wrapped around a big box of foil, I was going to get full service, damnit. I wasn’t giving up on 13 years of commitment without a fight.

But it was all too no avail. There was no signal. Even stripping down naked and drenching myself in apple juice and capers did nothing to help this cell phone service.

It was clearly time to move on.

I packed my beautiful pink Razr back in its box, found my 10-page contract, and rode my scooter to the Cingular store. I slowly walked up the counter, each step an act in courage, each step a testament to my own self-preservation. Yes, Cingular needed me, yes, Cingular saw me as a valued customer, and yes, Cingular would be more than willing to take my money even if they provided absolutely no service in my home – but this was no longer enough for me. I needed more.

I told these things to the man at the counter. It was probably a longer and more emotional version than what I am writing here, but you get the idea. To my surprise, he seemed unmoved by my well-thought out speech.

Frustrated by his apathy towards me ending our 13-year relationship, I said, “You do realize I am going someplace else, right?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, like I AM LEAVING YOU and I am going to ANOTHER network.”

“I understand.”

“And I plan on spending even more money on my NEW plan.”

“Okay.”

“AND I am probably going to even get the EXACT same phone that I had before.”

“It’s a good phone.”

“Don’t you get it? I am leaving you for you! Not for your plans, not for your phones, but for YOU! It’s YOU who has the problem! It’s you who lied and said you were the ALL OVER NETWORK! But you know what? You and me – we’re ALL OVER!”

The Cingular man paused.

“So do you want to take your old number with you?”

“YES!”

The Cingular man wrote down my account number on my refund receipt, telling me it would be easier to start with a new network that way. I thought he was quite gracious, considering the circumstances. It would be like calling up the new girlfriend of your ex-boyfriend and giving her tips: “So, if you cup his left testicle and stroke him on the right side in a fast-slow-fast-fast-slow way, and hum the theme from CHiPs, he will absolutely go crazy!” You gotta hand it to Cingular, they’ve got class.

After 13 years of always having a cell phone, I was suddenly alone. I felt scared. Here I was, a single woman in her 30’s, completely cell-phoneless. All my friends had cell phones, and they certainly weren’t having coverage problems. I didn’t even own a cat, and now I had no cell phone. But it didn’t matter what other people had. It was what I had inside that mattered. I wasn’t going to take only partial coverage; I wanted the whole thing or nothing at all.

I walked out of the Cingular store and worked hard to keep the tears from flowing. I wiped away the one single tear that had escaped, put on my helmet, and hopped onto my scooter and headed home.

A door had closed, but now a window was wide open. Verizon, Sprint, T-Mobile – even USA Cellular – they were all now options in my life. “Free at last,” I thought, “Free at last.”

- A