May You Phish In Hell

A short story.

My parents, both in their mid-eighties, are moderately technology literate. They understand email, web surfing, Zoom, (as long as they remember to mute), and, God help me, social media. My dad is also reasonably competent when it comes to online banking. There is a limit, however, and as I have discussed in this space before, there is a technology wall whereby we reach the end of understanding the net. Today's experience is a cautionary tale for anybody dealing with seniors and technology.

Last year, Netflix put an end to password sharing in Canada. My parents had been living large on the back of my Netflix account for several years. After several frustrating discussions with the company, it became obvious that the easiest thing to do would be to add Mom and Dad as additional users on my account, and they could pay me the extra fee in cash. It was the simplest solution to a frustrating problem for my folks who are regular users of Netflix. They were in agreement, and that is what we did. They never had any contact with Netflix, they've never seen a Netflix charge on their credit cards, and they went on with their viewing habits as if nothing had changed. Netflix doesn't even have their email addresses. It all goes through me.

Today, I walked into my parent's apartment to chat. I asked my dad what he was doing, and he said, "I'm renewing my Netflix account." I was incredulous and told him he didn't have a Netflix account. I reminded him that all Netflix stuff goes through me. He looked at me like I had two heads. I gently reminded him of the changes from last year, but memories aren't always as sharp when we get to a certain age. I asked him if I could see the email he received, and he handed me his phone. The sender came through as @xNetfli, but I can forgive my father for not looking at that. I was fortunate to stop him before he gave them his credit card information. This time. The Husband wondered how many times he might have been previously duped. I can only pray it hasn't happened. I once again warned Dad against these phishing emails and told him that if he gets an email asking for funds from Facebook, Prime, or any other subscription, he is to call me before answering. I also told him again that Netflix isn't ever something he needs to worry about.

I realize that we live in a world of shitheads. These bastards prey on the vulnerable, hoping to separate them from their cash. They also prey on the fears that seniors have with changing technology. The constant updates and new ways of doing things are really confusing. Is it any wonder that people get scammed? 

Please check in with your senior friends and family and make sure that they haven't taken the bait. There is a special place in hell for phishing scammers.

Turning Sixty In The Technology Age

I must stress at the outset of this post that I am not dissing my parents. They are capable seniors living in a digital age that is not fully designed for their needs. The stories I am about to tell you in this missive are true, but I am not ridiculing them. I am simply stating their truth.

I am about to turn the page on another decade, and I must say that I am very stressed at the prospect. Sixty. It is a really big-sounding number. SIXTY! I often roll it around in my mouth and try it on for size, but it isn't fitting. It is like a bra that is two cup sizes too small. SIXTY F***ING YEARS OLD!

Yes, I am aware that the alternative sucks. Yes, I am aware that I don't look sixty. (Yesterday, I was told by someone not that much older than that throat-catching number that she thought I was forty-five. She is my new best friend.) Yes, I am aware that age is simply a number on the calendar and that you are only as old as you feel. (Whoever said that probably only lived to fifty-nine.) Let's be frank. Sixty is a big freaking number. 60!

Nobody can claim that you have half of your life in front of you at sixty. When scientists talk about things that will occur by 2050, I do the math and realize that my odds of seeing those things happen are slim. The Divine Spirit willing, Younger Son will be sixty in 2050. Holy Shit. None of this is meant to depress you, dear reader, but I am simply being realistic. Sixty is a big freaking number.

Many things have impressed this reality upon me over the last eighteen months. Some of them were simply age questions. For example, I couldn't get my fourth Covid vaccination for months because I wasn't sixty. Sixty was that magical age line for the government between protecting older people and those of us not there yet. I wasn't old enough. Sixty is the age when my out-of-country insurance will increase. I was fifty-nine when I left Canada, so the premiums were less. Next year, watch me hit the stratosphere. 

But, nothing has convinced me more of my age issues than dealing with my parents and theirs. My parents are amazing people. They are both in their mid-eighties, live independently, exercise regularly, and handle all of their own banking, shopping, cooking, and medical needs. They both have a decent amount of computer/smartphone literacy in that they have a basic understanding of email, online banking, texting, FaceTime, Zoom, and (God help me) social media. But my octogenarian parents are still trying to learn these skills at an age when the outside world assumes that everyone understands everything and the never-ending technological changes.

Simply put, technology for people of a certain age is a bitch. We laugh at their ineptitude, but it isn't at all funny. When I tried to explain to my dad that he couldn't actually "call" an UBER, he was befuddled. When I tried to explain to my mom that her cellphone wasn't operating correctly down here in the Southern Home because her service provider was a shitty company, she couldn't understand the difference between a service provider and her actual handset. She asked The Husband to look at her phone as if that would change the problem. When I asked my dad to call said shitty service provider and deal with the situation, he kibbitzed with the operator until they lied to him and told him everything was fixed. I have spent hours lately fixing their cable, internet, and cell phones and updating all of their devices. And here's the thing. I AM NOT MUCH BETTER AT ANY OF THIS THAN THEY ARE. I married a techie and birthed one; I am not one. And don't even get me started on lost and forgotten passwords. Is it all caps or lowercase? Did you use numbers or symbols? Did you write it down anywhere? Did you save the password with facial recognition? Do you use facial recognition? The possibilities and computations are endless. (We are beginning the labourious task of documenting all of their passwords in a notebook. It will take a while.)

To make matters worse, my wonderful brother bought them new phones before they came south and set everything up for them. And yet, they are still using their old phones occasionally because some critical apps, like my dad's hearing aides, are only useable in Canada and can't be duplicated in the U.S. app store. And...we need access to the Canadian app store from down here which we don't have. Do better, Apple.

I am in technology hell. 

Last week, The Husband and I spent two hours with a Breezeline technician because the modem in my Other Dad's condo was fried. He has yet to arrive, and we wanted to ensure everything was copacetic before he came. I had spent over an hour on the phone with Breezeline a few days before explaining that the modem was fried. After they disconnected me twice, I insisted on the in-person visit. The technician did indeed replace the modem, but he had to reset all of the network passwords. He wasn't permitted to change the network name or password to something more personal, so he left instructions with The Husband on how to do it. But you can't use an iPhone to do it. He stressed this. It will lock you out of the network. The next day, The Husband and I took his laptop to Other Dad's condo to quickly reset the name and password. 

Um...no!

It wasn't possible to do it over the internet even though we were connected to the WiFi. It locked us out of the system. Thanks to the Divine Spirit for my techie. He hardwired Other Dad's desktop computer directly into the modem so that he could access the network. But...his wireless mouse and keyboard were dead, logical after a hiatus of several months. So, he had to plug them into the wall to charge. Three hours later, we were back in his unit to change the password and network name. Without The Husband's knowledge and skill, we would have been fucked.

My brother sent me an email last month warning me that my parents' email verification would change in December. All that we needed to do was input their passwords for their email. That and update all their devices to the latest iOS and find all those passwords to access them. My dad last updated his iPad 45 weeks ago. I'm fucking serious. 45 weeks. The updates took a while. So far, their email is still working. Pray for me.

I have an excellent idea for a business. Tech support that is specifically designed for seniors. Not the Geek Squad, which expects you to understand the basics and employs less than adequate people. I'm talking about a tech support who will come to your home and deal with everything, from password retrieval to how to program your digital TV recorder. Don't tell them how to do it, just do it for them. Don't offer them explanations and instructions; order that UBER for them. The employees' prerequisites need to include Job's patience, a love of people (my dad will make them coffee, and my mom will ply them with chocolate chunk cookies), an aversion to judgement, and an understanding nature. We expect our seniors to be able to navigate new apps and phones every month. It is a loser's game. Let's find a way to make things easy for them. They are twentieth-century people living in a twenty-first-century world. Only some people have access to a techie.

I see myself in my parents. I fear the day when I fear technology. I am scared that there will come a time when it is all just too complicated. I don't want to burden my techies any more than my parents wish to burden theirs. Every time something goes haywire, I hear the exhaustion in my mother's voice. "Two years ago, I could do it all," she says. She's right. But two years is still two years. We don't get younger.

Sixty is a big freaking number. I'm not expecting sympathy. I'm blessed. But I need to acknowledge the fears before I embrace the excitement. That post is coming before the end of the month. The fears are real. This, too, shall I overcome. 

. 

Musings From Self-Isolation-Day 5 (The Real Day 5)

Day 5

You know what I am noticing about myself from all of these Zoom meetings, Facetime chats, and the odd self-post?

I suddenly realized how old and drawn I look.

This is not me fishing for compliments. I'm not looking for you all to tell me I don't. I do and there is simply no way around it.

The computer camera doesn't lie.

I look old and tired.

Some of it is definitely the hair thing. I am not a fan of my Rapunzel look and I know that a hair cut, while scheduled, is not in my future. The grey isn't bothering me nearly as much as the length. Pulling it back is certainly utilitarian and functional, but it is less than flattering. I am not yet at the self-shearing stage but this might be an option if this carries on without a finish line in sight. I'm thinking Yul Brynner-style might be an ideal look. Charlize Theron managed to pull it off in her Mad Max movie and I look just like Charlize Theron, except for the height, the blond-glow, the perfect skin, and the impeccable body.

Ok. Yul Brynner, it will be.

I'm also dispensing with any pretext of makeup while home, you know...that whole "don't touch your face thing" would mean an endless cycle of handwashing and then face washing and then handwashing again. So no makeup and bad lighting make for some pretty frightening looks on Skype.

Is eyebrow or chin-hair plucking allowed? Asking for a friend of a certain age.

I'm getting dressed for comfort and not for show so my friends and family are seeing a lot of sweatshirts and work-out clothing on these live tune-ins. Staying relaxed in my clothes is so much more important right now than pretending I am going anywhere. I understand the idea that teaches us to stay in our routines in order to maintain some semblance of sanity but honestly, if I had to wear anything other than comfort clothes right now, you'd be peeling both The Husband and me off of the walls.

I am absolutely subscribing to the lululemon mission statement. "Provide people with the components to live a longer, healthier and more fun life." The Husband's life is being made markedly longer and healthier by not complaining about my continual wardrobe of sweatpants.

So, yeah...I look like shit and here's the thing; my give a damn is busted.

A few random thoughts.

There are pleas from our works department here in Toronto to NOT flush sanitizing wipes down the toilet. They are clogging the pipes. I can't imagine any of my educated and wise friends are doing such a stupid thing but you might want to pass it on to the Cro-Magnon set.

We, vegetarians who are self-isolating, are having a bit of an issue filling our protein needs. I cannot seem to get anybody to deliver some tofu to us. If anybody is safely out and about in the downtown core and stumbles upon a couple of extra-firm tofu bricks, private message me, please. I will take them off of your hands. Additionally, some assholes who think that the nuclear holocaust is here, have hoarded all of the canned beans which we use as protein components. I would give up haircuts for a year for a few cans of chickpeas or black beans.

Today's music break is one of my favourite rocking country chicks. Jo Dee Messina singing it out.


Wash your hands, don't touch your face, be kind, stay healthy.

What Should I Do With All That Stuff?

A quick hit from the depths of purging, purifying, and packing.

I had a fascinating conversation with Younger Son last weekend. While he cleaned out the last remnants of his time here at the house in the North Jewish Ghetto, I asked him what he thought I should do with the hundreds of CDs, vinyl albums, cassette tapes, DVDs, and VHS tapes that we have accumulated. Let me be clear. These collective recordings represent a huge part of our lives, our musical and film tastes defined, not to mention, thousands of dollars spent. There is little doubt in my mind that each album, tape, or disc can trigger a memory; perhaps it was a long-ago attended concert or great times with friends. Whatever the situation, there is also no doubt that this entire collection is comprised of outdated technology that struggles to be played in a home that no longer boasts a VCR, a working turntable, a cassette player, or even a computer with a CD/DVD slot. We have, like many others, become a digital home whereby our multimedia experiences are measured in gigabytes consumed.

Younger Son's response to my dilemma did not surprise me in the least. He is a minimalist at heart. He told me to junk it all. (Oh, the horror!!) Like many of his generation, he sees no need for superfluous consumption and extraneous items that simply have no storage space. He reminded me that he gets all of his music from services like Apple Music and Spotify, and watches whatever he wishes, whenever he wishes from various on-demand sites like Netflix and Shomi. In many ways, he has simplified his life by not cluttering his space with stuff that no longer has any tangible value.

And yet....

I am truly struggling with the idea of tossing out our media collection. Even if I never play any of it ever again, there is something tremendously distasteful to me about the idea that so much creative brilliance has become obsolete in what really amounts to less than half a century. Now, please do not label me a Luddite. I am not for a moment suggesting that the advances in technology haven't been for the better, nor am I saying that I haven't been caught up in the tsunami of new gadgets. Rather, I am attempting to reconcile the ideas of technological obsolescence with artistic maintenance. How can I continue to enjoy many of these rare and wonderful recordings, (all legally obtained, by the way!) without re-cluttering my personal space with worn out gadgets and outdated media components?

I suppose what has me really unnerved is the idea that art no longer seems to have any permanence. Sure I can watch It's a Wonderful Life, but only if it is on at Christmastime, Netflix allows it, or I choose to rebuy it in a digital format. It's kind of like saying that one can only view the Mona Lisa online because the Louvre no longer permits visitors.

Younger Son's response while slightly brutal and just a wee bit dismissive, struck directly at the heart of the matter. In this age of downsizing and placing a premium on our space, holding on to these recordings with no thought of ever playing them again is a luxury for certain. We have chosen a new lifestyle and difficult choices need to be made to facilitate it, but that doesn't mean that I have to enjoy this aspect of the purge.

I would love to hear your comments on this matter. How have you consolidated your media collections, if you have undertaken such an endeavour? Do you hold on like I have because the thought of disposing of stuff is anathema? When is it time to part with stuff like this? Please comment. I'm curious.

Dayenu!

OY!! What a day I've had. You be the judge. Dayenu! (On Passover we say Dayenu!-It would have been enough. Trust me. Today? It would have been enough!)

Had I only had a decent night's sleep? Dayenu!


Had I only woken refreshed and not cranky? Dayenu!


Had I only been able to sit in the sun today reading and not fallen asleep in my chair? Dayenu!


Had falling asleep in my chair not caused a sunburned face? Dayenu!


Had my sunburned face not caused a more than painful experience in the shower? Dayenu!


Had my less than satisfying shower and cranky behaviour not caused me to drop body lotion all over my bathmat? Dayenu!


Had the unclean bathmat been easily cleaned? Dayenu!


Had I not needed to throw said bathmat into my faulty washing machine? Dayenu!


Had I not absent-mindedly closed the laundry room door after starting the machine? Dayenu!


Had my bathmat been properly centred in the machine and the machine not decided to go for a walk? Dayenu!


Had the walking washing machine not blocked the closed laundry room from the inside? Dayenu!


Had the other door on the outside of the laundry room opened and not been painted shut? Dayenu!


Had the hinges on the laundry room door been on the outside as opposed to the inside? Dayenu!

Had the washing machine been empty rather than filled with water making the machine twice as heavy to attempt to move? Dayenu!

Had this event/catastrophe happened before 5:00 pm so that the engineering people in the building were still here working? Dayenu!


Had any of the people I brought in to attempt said move had an arm reach longer than a strand of linguine? Dayenu!


Had I been born with an easy going nature rather than type A so that the idea of a blocked laundry room door with a wet bathmat held within didn't drive me to distraction as we headed out to dinner? Dayenu!


Had our dinner companions reached us to inform of their illness before we drove all the way up to Lauderdale? Dayenu!


Had I been able to ignore the situation upon my return? Dayenu!


Had I thought enough to call my 6'5" neighbour with the point guard reach 3 hours earlier so that he could reach around the door, turn off the machine, empty the water, and finally move the f*@#ing tin box away from the door so that I could finally access the room and retrieve the smelly wet bathmat? Dayenu!


Lessons learned from this experience? I need a new washer and dryer. I need a locksmith to open the other door from the laundry room. Never close the laundry room door while the old appliances are still here and when in doubt--SIZE DOES MATTER!!!

Shabbat and The Telephone

A few weeks ago I commented to The Husband about the increasing irritation of our landline telephone. I had noticed that with the exception of one or two calls a day, (thanks Mom!) the telephone only rang with calls from banks offering new credit card rates, newspapers trying to increase their circulation, or duct cleaners. Yes we have registered our phone number on the f*#@ingly useless "Do Not Call" list and yes we have call display that shows most of these solicitors coming through as 800 numbers. The latest scam for the duct cleaning business is to use area codes from out of country so as to dupe us into thinking that the call might have some importance. At first we were polite, told them that we were registered on the DNC list and to kindly remove our number. Last week when the poor schmuck on the other end of the line began his pitch, I yelled loudly into the phone "ARE YOU F*#@ING KIDDING ME???" "DON'T YOU PEOPLE EVER LEARN??" And then I politely hung up. My point is that our landline has fast become the spam provider of our communications system.

We have discussed ridding ourselves of the nuisance. I know many people who refuse to use landlines. Both of my sons rely solely on their cellphones. The Husband and I just can't seem to cut the cord, though. We worry about emergency response and power outages that tie up cell service. In the great Northeastern blackout of 2003, the only phones that functioned effectively were those that were connected directly into the phone jacks and didn't require electrical power or batteries. We still keep one around for emergencies, but my realization of a few weeks ago is still relevant. Between our cells, texting, and email we barely use our landline. Until yesterday.

Shabbat is usually my quiet day. Following our morning at shul we attempt to keep the day as peaceful and unobtrusive as possible. A Shabbos nap is my hoped for activity, but it doesn't always work and there are Shabbatot where real life does intrude on the m'nucha. (rest) A series of unforeseen events all collided with one another yesterday and had my telephone in constant service for almost four consecutive hours. I don't think that I have spent four hours on the phone during the entire month of November. Every time I took a call, another went directly to voice mail. Every time that I thought that a situation was under control, the next dam burst. It was a frenzy that rendered Shabbat totally useless.

Last evening after a fun Muppet movie experience, we went for a light bite with some friends. Somehow we got onto the subject of Shomer Shabbos-the ritual keeping of Shabbat laws. Far be it from me to tell anybody how they should practice and observe, but during yesterday's craziness it became clear to me as to why many feel the need to draw a rigid line in the sand for Shabbat observance. While I cannot subscribe to many of the outright  dismissals of logical modern conveniences such as electricity use, phones, cars etc.. I can absolutely understand the need to disconnect from the hustle and bustle of the outside world for a full day. Shabbat should be about study, rest, and joy. It shouldn't be about fighting crowds in the mall, haircuts, carpooling kids, banking, or frenzied telephone calls. Look. I am not naive. I realize that our modern lives are squeezed for time. Many work full-time with spouses or partners who do the same. We need those non-working days to keep the house in order or the family fed. But I urge you all to try and unplug for one day a week. Maybe one day a month? The results are cathartic and therapeutic and, frankly necessary to our well-being as a society.

If nothing else, yesterday's lunacy has put talk of disconnecting the landline on hold for a while. (pun absolutely and apologetically intended!) But it has revived an old debate of what to do with the phone on Shabbat and the determination of which calls are necessary to receive and which can wait. I admit I am still struggling with this one. I would be happy to hear what you all have to say.

I ❤ Geeks!

Ok! I admit it. I am a geek. I am attracted to geeks, I married a geek, I spawned geeks, I am the progeny of geeks, and I have geeky friends. I need everybody to know that I believe labelling you a geek is a massive compliment and one that I do not throw around lightly. I love the intelligence of geeks, the varied interests, and the social awkwardness that we have all been through, shared and overcome. I would lay odds that many of you are geeks as well, but have never really taken the time to embrace your inner geekdom. So here we go with surest ways to know that you are part of that great universal geek fellowship.

• You know you are a geek when the most senior citizen members of your family are "early-adopters" of all things Apple.
• You know you are a geek when you attend a lovely Sunday brunch with all of your women friends and spend much of the time arguing the merits of superhero movies over the Twilight series. 
• You know you are a geek when you have spent some period of time constructing a Millennium Falcon, Death Star, or Starship Enterprise out of Lego.
• You know you are a geek when you follow casting announcements and trailers for the new Batman movies closer than you follow federal politicians.
• You know you are a geek when this becomes normal behaviour.                                             

• You know you are a geek when you revel in March 14 being Pi day (3.14) or that November 01/11 was Binary Day (110111).
• You know you are a geek when you begin to compare yourself and your family members to characters on the Big Bang Theory. Just for your edification-I am Bernadette, Younger Son is definitely Leonard, Older Son is an amalgam of Raj (the sweetness and shyness) and Howard (Jewish), and The Husband likes to think that he is Sheldon. I say that he loses Sheldon points for his lack of fastidiousness, but there is absolutely some Sheldon there. 
• You know you are a geek when you can have whole philosophical conversations about which Star Trek series captain was the better, more capable, and most approachable leader. Personally I am a fan of Jean-Luc Picard, but I have heard merits argued in favour of Kirk as well.
• You know you are a geek when zombies are awesome, vampires are sexy, and werewolves are dreamy.
• You know you are a geek when you can name each of Stan Lee's cameo appearances in every single  Marvel movie.
• You know you are a geek when Comic-Con is a destination vacation.
• You know you are a geek when you brag about how you learned who Aerosmith was from GuitarHero, and your fitness regimen is designed by the Wii.
• You know you are a geek when you use the Simpsons as your default pop culture references.

There are so many more as these were but a sampling. Please feel free to add your own in the comments section below and share them proudly with the world!

Yet Another Cell Phone Story Courtesy of Younger Son!

Oh, my youngest boy! The angst caused by you and your ongoing melodrama with Ma Bell's cellular division. When last we left the lad, he was fighting with Alexander Graham's namesake conglomerate due to a flawed contract over a defective crackberry device. That incident was just the most recent in a very long line of crappy cell service courtesy of Canada's premier cell phone provider. (Insert facetious smirk here!) Today we were witness to yet another chapter in Younger Son's continuing drama that I have entitled "Ask Not For Whom the Bell Tolls. It Tolls for HE!!" 

A couple of days ago, Younger Son noticed some odd behaviour emitting from his phone. He was able to call out and text out, but he was experiencing "service interupt-us" on anything incoming. The problem continued off and on for most of a day, but eventually all returned to normal and as such, he was reluctant to call or visit a Bell location. Today, it all fell apart. At about 5:30 pm, I called his number just to have a friendly chat, and I was summarily informed by a recorded message that his number had been temporarily placed in disservice. I thought that it was yet another quirky issue with his Blackberry, but the fun was just beginning. At 6:00 pm we get a call from a private number. It is Younger Son calling from a friend's phone asking The Husband to please get on the computer to Skype with him as his phone is out of service. When he tried calling out, he was automatically forwarded to Bell customer service. After being placed on hold for over an hour and having been transferred to 4 separate departments including home service support, cell service support, accounts, and fraud, he was disconnected!! Hearing your son scream and swear via Skype is an experience I could have lived without for a few more years. Within 30 seconds of his disconnection, our home phone rings and The Husband finds himself speaking with the same customer service rep that hung up on Younger Son. He wants the boy to call a special fraud number. DUMBASSS!!! The boy doesn't have a working phone because you assholes cut him off without explanation. Only Bell would operate their business this way. The Husband takes the number, keeps Younger Son on the computer via Skype and spends the next hour on hold with Bell's fraud squad. After a lengthy process whereby they have to verify everything from all the account numbers and phone number to his mother's maiden name, they convey the message that his phone has been cloned and that he will have to change his number. Another series of security levels and all is again right with his world.

A few questions for Bell.

1. Why didn't you send either him or us as the account holders, an email explaining the issue?

2. Why didn't you contact the home phone number with a prompt explanation that you were cutting off his phone?

3. Why connect him immediately to Bell service without connecting him immediately to the fraud squad? Why put him through every other department in your f*&#ed up company?

4. Why can't your customer service reps immediately discern that this was an issue for the fraud squad? Aren't you all on the same computer network?

I am so tired of these mega conglomerates that I am starting to wonder if we should go back to the old fashioned methods of communication. I was a Girl Guide. I still remember my semaphore!!

Post Mother's Day

I have highly schizophrenic (and I think evolved!) attitudes towards Mother's Day as I have fully discussed here and here. I expect very little from the day, and frankly I prefer to treat it as just another Sunday in May. So when The Husband and I made arrangements to see Susan Werner at Hugh's Room last evening, we totally forgot that it was Mother's Day until a friend pointed it out to us. What an emotionally involving way to spend my day of ambivalence. The woman is truly gifted. If you have never heard Susan or her music I passionately urge you to check her out, and as good as her recordings are, she is so much more in person. Some talented young women Natalia Zuckerman, Garrison Starr, and Mona Tavakoli (percussionist extraordinaire!! I mean, honestly, the woman played a wooden box to absolute perfection!) joined her on stage in what often seemed like an impromptu jam session. It was a joy to share Hallmark's holiday with these empowered and truly wonderful women, not to mention my parents and great friends.

Contempti-BELL!!

Yet another lovely story from the beautiful people who hold our collective cojones in a metaphoric vice grip-our cell phone providers at Bell cellular.

Younger Son has had horrible karma with his phones. To his credit, he has never once dropped one of his phones from the roof of a 40 storey building, gone deep sea diving with the phone in his pocket, nor has he played road hockey using it as a puck. Neither has he had to retrieve it from the toilet, left it on the subway, dropped it, tampered with it, or picked it to pieces. He is unbelievably responsible with his phones, but he has been plagued with lemon after cell-lemon. Last year, he decided that enough was enough and went for the reliable (or so he thought) Blackberry curve on contract with Bell Cellular. Because of his history with hardware problems, he even consented to purchase the extended warranty plan at a cost of an extra $4.00/month. The initial cost of the phone on sale at Bell was a very reasonable $50.00. Younger Son did the happy dance all the way home, content in the knowledge that he and his Young Lady would now be wirelessly joined at the hip with unlimited text plans and Blackberry Messaging service. The earth continued revolving around the sun and all was right again with the universe. Until three days ago.

As seems to be the norm with Younger Son's phones, it began to go kerfluey. The "a" key stopped functioning all together which resulted in a makeshift solution from him causing many of his texts to resemble the following:

"Hi Mom. How's D@d?"

When the phone began to update all on its on and at inconvenient times, the boy knew that he had to approach the seventh circle of hell in search of answers-the Bell store at the Eaton's Centre. 

Now we all know that customer service is not high on any Canadian cell providers list of priorities, but Bell seems to take f*@#ing people over to new levels. After ascertaining that the phone could not be repaired, he was told to call customer service. God forbid that they should deal with it at a Bell store. No-he had to call an outsourced phone bank located in some country where snow is part of their mythology. Being the dutiful young man that he is, he calls-only to be told that he needs to call technical support. He explains that the phone has already been deemed unfixable by Bell employees, but it is to no avail. He must call technical support, they will in turn ascribe him a number and return him back to customer service. Are you all following this? He calls technical support only to be told that he cannot call from his phone. It is the only phone he has!!! No, they want him to call from a landline so that they can ask him questions regarding his broken Blackberry. After a series of screaming matches and a few calls to The Husband, Younger Son and Bell finally get on the same page and determine that his phone is busted. (That is the technical term!) Bell agrees to send him a new phone and tell him that it is a good thing that he purchased the extended warranty because his phone is just over a year old now and wouldn't be covered otherwise. So, instead they will only charge him $150.00 for the replacement phone. $150.00!!!!! The phone originally cost him $50 and he paid another $48 over the year for this warranty to have the privilege of merely paying another $150. He was devastated. He doesn't have $150.00. He called The Husband and the words that escaped from my man's mouth were unutterable even for me. He told Younger Son to arrange for the phone and he would get involved. Big talker. 

After spending a good chunk of his afternoon with extremely rude Bell customer service oxymorons and uttering a few more expletives I am certain, we are back to square one. This fee was obviously in the contract that Younger Son signed, and I refuse to get into something that is obviously legal, but oh the immorality of it all. It seems that the $150 is to cover the replacement cost of a phone that they value at $500 but sold at $50. And what a scam the extended warranty turned out to be. Younger Son swears that nobody at Bell ever once mentioned the $150 when they sold him the warranty. Expensive lesson learned? Absolutely, but isn't there just a bit of underhandedness here on the part of Bell? And how can they say with a straight face that the phone is worth $500, but sell it for $50?

Canadian cell phone companies are notorious for this kind of behaviour, but short of leaving Bell for probably another round of equally contemptible garbage with Ted's company, we are not certain what our next move is. We have become slaves to our cell phones and these assholes know it. Got a story about your cell phone provider? Share it in the comments below.

Trying to relax and remember that Shabbat is soon here.

***Shabbas Update***

The Husband is a gem of a man that impresses me more every day. After work, he was determined to settle this shit with Bell once and for all, so he spent yet another hour on the phone with yet another  "stupidvisor". After calmly and collectedly explaining the idiocy of this situation again, and expressing in no uncertain terms that he believed that a fraud had been perpetrated on Younger Son when the salesperson neglected to inform him of the $150 replacement fee and instead told him that any replacement would be fully covered, my guy was able to recover a rebate on Younger Son's monthly plan totally $180.00. In other words, he made $30.00 on the exchange. Not really, though. When you factor in the $48.00 spent on the extended warranty, he is still out 18 bucks, but it is better than before. We are still seriously considering reporting this mess to any number of press or consumer sites. More updates to follow, I am sure.