Ignorant Man Buys Smart Phone

YOURKTOWN - Erbert Opeless, age 60, of Dimm Meadows, ultimately succumbed. The months of constant TV, newspaper, direct mail, and Internet ad bombardment had finally convinced him that the latest generation of smart telephones would instantly make him popular, successful, sexy, and brilliant. The entire worldwide repository of knowledge and connections would suddenly be his. So, exactly two weeks ago, exactly 30 minutes before closing, he broke down and bought one at his local Verwizened cell phone store.

The Pocket Rocket 2010, it was called, and the smiling young saleslady with the low-cut sweater and ample bosom assured Mr. Opeless that this model was perfect for him. “The PR10, as we call it, has every whiz-bang feature currently available,” she cooed, then lustily licking her lips. “Instant email access from every known provider, complete and unlimited Internet access, voicemail messaging, time management calendars, list and document management, high resolution camera, ultra-bytes of music storage. It even makes telephone calls, all through the thin air—no wires--kike magic,” she said with a wink. “Wow,” he thought. “With this, I’ll finally be a somebody.”

Two nights later, exactly 30 minutes before closing time, Erbert returned to Verwizened with his PR10 and a few simple questions. Albert, a sharply attired age twenty-something associate, happily addressed all Mr. Opeless’s issues. “You push this little bitty button right here to turn it on.” “You open it like this, then pull out this tiny little tab. This end of this cord plugs into that slot, the other end into that adapter, and then the whole thing into a power socket. Every night,” Albert explained. “That’s how you charge the phone’s battery.” “Ah yes," replied Mr. Opeless. “Now I’ve got it.”

The next night, at exactly 30 minutes before closing, Erbert was back with a few more questions. Roseanna, a veteran associate with frizzy black hair and a sharp, nasal voice, helped him. “This icon, excuse me, picture, of the envelope opens the email feature. This, uh, picture of the globe opens the Internet feature,” she calmly demonstrated. On it went, back and forth, until well after closing. “Ah yes,” Mr. Opeless finally nodded. “Now I’ve got it.”

The very next night, again at exactly 30 minutes before closing, Erbert was back. Again with the simple questions. Pat Shintz, customer service Supervisor with the patience of Job and the reputation of being able to teach a rock to sing, greeted Mr. Opeless, ushered him into a quiet back room, then slowly and deliberately explained more of the smart phone’s operational details. Well past midnight Mr. Opeless at last nodded, “Ah yes. Now I’ve got it.”

Unfortunately, he didn't get it.  And so it went, with Erbert returning exactly 30 minutes before closing every night for yet another lengthy tutorial. After two weeks, the weary Verwizened employees finally couldn’t take it any more. Once Mr. Opeless left, long after closing, as usual, the entire evening staff met in the conference room. Sobs, screams, expletives, threats, and furniture bounced all around the room.

The very next morning, the Verwizened day shift employees reported to work to find two new store policies had been posted on the now trashed conference room door:

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SELL A SMART PHONE TO ANYONE OVER AGE 40. ID REQUIRED.

STORE NOW CLOSES ONE HOUR EARLIER.

02.22.10

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