A little girl with pigtails sits in a chair, bouncing her legs back and forth and blowing sighs of impatience. She looks off towards another little girl playing on the floor, that seems to be too young for her to attempt to indulge in
imaginary play with. Her mother sits back, Mary Monroe's latest novel in hand, consumed in her reading, but still attentive enough to hear her name being called. A restless 40 or 50-something lady, looks over her glasses in disbelief at the crowd of others waiting and looks over to that infamous glass divider, wondering if the diagnosis is good or bad. I'm shaking my head, because I never wanted to end up here. This is the last place I wanted to spend my Saturday.
If you haven't guessed it by now. No, I'm not at the emergency room. I'm waiting in the Sprint store. It seems my BlackBerry is having a mind of its own when it comes to hooking up to my car charger. For the price I paid two years ago, it should have wireless charging! Some battery charging sattelite off in outer space for pricey phones! I sigh, like everyone else from time to time, shifting one leg over the other. I sit back and make the best of it. I wish I could snatch that Mary Monroe novel and at least go into another world, that keeps me from dying of impatience in this one. I cross my legs, yet again, and at least try to spark up a riotus conversation with my next seat neighbor. "This doesn't make no sense!", I say, trying to initiate a protest out of her. She just nods and seeemingly enough, her name is called. She heads to that representative like he was Bob Barker on The Price is Right! I look up at the fancy 60" flat screen on the ceiling. "So that's what my monthly bill is really paying for?", I say to myself. I notice my name goes a little higher on the totem pole. Just three more names and my problems will be solved!
An hour goes by, and I'm next! My heart begins to race, adrenaline rushes, I'm on the tips of my toes, waiting to hear my birth name. Feels like graduating from high school all over again. There are times like this, whether you like the choice your parents made years ago or not, that you're estatic when you hear your name being called. I glance at a few of the representatives, all of them seem to be invested in high-profile cases. I get hopeless for a moment. I wanted to catch the 3:50 matinee...It's now 3:30. Finally, a young (kind of attractive) man emerges from behind the glass divider and my name is called. Mmph, wish I had've looked in my compact mirror. At least he took some of the edge off I was waiting to spill over. Sprint probably made it their duty to hire a few attractive reps, to keep their irate customer frequency controlled. After the common protocol: Name on the account. Password. I tell him the situation, like he's a doctor and I want to know if I'm pregnant or not. He smiles, not genuinely, almost robotic, and tells me something I didn't want to hear. "Well our tech has left for the day, so if you want to leave your phone..." I don't remember what he said next. All I know is that anxiety that he helped to soothe with his looks, immediately showed up all over my face. But then Otis Redding's song, started
playing in my mind, Try a Little Tenderness...."she may be weary, them young girls they do get wearied...but when she gets wearied, try a little tenderness." I smiled, laughing to myself. Told him, "that's okay, I'll come back another time. Maybe on a Tuesday morning, when a majority of customers are at their 9 to 5's." He seems shocked. Larry, yeah, that's the name on his badge of Sprint/Nextel honor. Larry takes a step back and shrugs off the unexpected reaction. I walk away and notice others waiting with the same anxiety I had. To ease the stress for a few, I say loud enough to be heard..."If your phone needs the doctor, well, he's left the building. Out on a call I guess." A lady smiles and another curses.
I walk out of the Sprint clinic, into the see-saw 70 degree weather of December and put my sick BlackBerry back inside of my purse. It's okay baby, we'll get you fixed up one of these days.
I'm mad. Nah, bump that...I'm feeling like a 2 year old, stumping my feet over and over again in the sofa! Throwing a serious temper tantrum...why? Head turn left...see that chica to your left. Forget that it's Natasha Bedingfield. Who cares? Okay, her dress is kinda cute. But, look at what she's holding...yes, it's a cell phone. But it's more than that! 
