“Upgrade,” they urge. “Upgrade!”

“Up your nose,” I reply, “with a rubber hose.”

Well, I don’t really say that. But sometimes the sentiment crosses my mind. Bigger. Better. Faster. Smaller. Quiet. Louder. It’s all the latest. Upgrade! The one you have is old.

Old = no good, in their book.

I’ve just never felt that way. If you could see my collection of junk, you’d probably note my appreciation for the status quo.

For example: I drive a red Firebird that I have owned for more than a dozen years. I still enjoy tooling around in it, although I wish the air conditioner would heal itself. Beside me is an acoustic guitar I bought in Kentucky just after my high school graduation. Obviously, it’s almost old enough to draw its musical Social Security. (Only a slight stretch there…) Some things were better-made back in the day. They lasted longer.

When my Sony digital camera (the one probably found in the Smithsonian as the very first digital device, it’s so old…) – when it up and died, I bought another on eBay. An identical camera, with the ancient technology and dinosaur-size. It worked great and did everything I asked of it. I never wished it would do something that it couldn’t. Didn’t need to store 6,000 pictures or have it slip comfortably into my shirt pocket. I liked it. I replaced it, with an exact replica.

The death of my cell phone wasn’t the fault of age or technology. I sent it to a watery grave, despite hearing an ominous Thunk! when I loaded the washing machine (the same washer I bought twenty years ago, still working fine, thank-you-very-much). Should have investigated the Thunk! further, but I didn’t. The phone-in-laundry-waterproof test failed. Dead as a hammer after the spin dry cycle.

The cell is nice to have, even if I don’t use it all that much. So I visited the Sprint store, where my powers of invisibility kicked in at the worst possible moment. Pinched myself, held my breath, prayed to the god-of-digits hoping the young woman would be finally be able to see me standing there. Alas. To no avail.

I don’t frequent phone stores much and maybe the clerks all sense that, like dogs smell fear on me when I draw near them. When my pleading look did not even rate eye contact, I gave up and left for that electronic retail experience, diving headlong into the internet waters in hopes of finding a replacement phone.

The word “Upgrade” came up right away. I’ve been with the company for more than a decade (much more) and my contract expired years ago. My Sprint website password is as old as my car.

Andre, the Sprint guy: You should be seeing a link at the left for your options.

Me, after clicking: Those phones look like they came over on the Mayflower.

Andre, the Sprint guy: You could Upgrade instead of replace.

Some of this exercise is just lost on me. I asked Andre to subtract twelve from his age and think about where he was at that time. He admitted he wasn’t driving yet. That’s how long I’ve been a paying customer of his company. But for me to get the latest, greatest cellphone – completely free of charge – I have to become a new customer with another company. My drowned phone is no longer offered. I guess it was a lemon that got squeezed out of the lineup. I had just figured out how to Bluetooth it, too.

Sprint won’t extend me an offer for a Snazz-phone. Can’t get the next great thing. No smart phone for this dummy.

Oh, sure. I can get a sort of retro-looking flip-flop if I sign a two-year deal. The nice phones? Nah. Those are reserved for New Customers. It’s like Andre was pawning me off on Verizon or AT&T. Maybe a WalMart no-contract deal. Hey! I just want a telephone to go along with my monthly bill.

After nineteen-and-a-half minutes (I asked Andre how long we had been talking, and I guess he was timing it. Accurately.) – after that time, I felt guilty thinking he probably should have closed the sale in that length of time. I told him I’d look over the website more closely and call back when I was better informed.

Of course, I went straight to eBay.

Samsung Exclaim, with the Qwerty (fun typing there) keyboard, up for auction in several colors and varying-degrees of abuse. I place a bid. Checked it this afternoon. Won it. At this point, no six-hundred dollar smart phone for me. No upgrade. Just a twenty-dollar replacement version of the drowning victim.

Of course, to get it activated, I’ll have to visit the Sprint store.

Where I am invisible.

I’ll see you right away, if you – Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main Street, Broken Arrow OK!