I don't like to complain but I certainly am not so opposed to it that I will not do it now and again. Buckle yourself in for a mad rant because here I go!
So last year I confidently launched myself willy-nilly into the world of smartphones with this lovely right here
and then heralded the milestone with an enthusiastic announcement on my Facebook page--"For my ivory anniversary my true love gave to me, an ivory colored smart phone. How is that for romantic?"
The romance lasted less than a week. I won't go into the gory, phone-fail details, because really the details are not pertinent to my rant. What is pertinent? I lack a penis.
But first a bit more background. So finally having decided that I had had enough of the Duos's free fun features--dropped calls, stalled processing, inadvertent/unplanned shutdowns, delayed response to repeated button pushing, and daily phone freezes--I checked out customer reviews (I know, I know, I should have done that a year ago) only to find that the Samsung Duos is famous for all of the above.
Crap. Now what?
Having been married for a good long time, I know that the best way to get a new anything is to complain loudly and often and so I channeled my inner five-year-old and--voila--a new phone materialized on my pillow on the morning of my birthday. This time it was the Samsung Fame.
Being uncharacteristically on the ball, I read its customer reviews right there in bed on the morning of my birthday only to find that the Fame, to summarize all 135 reviews I read that morning, "Is a piece of doodoo." Tony had opened the box and charged it the night before but I sure as heck wasn't going to touch that thing, so I didn't. I just slipped it, box and all, back into its bag with its receipt.
Okay, now the penis part for those of you who have been waiting on the edge of your seats. Fast forward about a week and Tehva and I traipse over to the mall behind our house in order to return the Fame to the Samsung store. I also am planning on requesting store credit so that I can buy something that won't make me bald with frustration. I swagger up to the register only to encounter a heavyset, pasty, salesman with an embroidered dishdasha and an unnerving giggle.
**Snicker giggle** "Oh, you opened the package a week ago? No, no, we cannot take that phone back. Maybe if it was one or two days after, but you opened it a long time ago!"
"A week is a long time?"
"Yes."
"And I could have opened it and returned it two days afterward but not now?"
"Yes...No...Yes."
"Can I speak to your manager?"
Now the woman next to him chimes in, moving her mouth carefully so as not to disengage the cake makeup from her face. "We cannot take that phone back. It is yours. No manager."
I don't move. PastyMan adds to CakeWoman's suggestion by pointing out that maybe the store in Ruwi would be able to help me. (Ruwi, for the uninitiated, is a durn long way from our Muscat burb).
"But my husband bought it here at this store. The salesman is here."
"You can go to Ruwi."
"Can I talk to your manager?"
"You should go to Ruwi."
This is the point at which I feel like foaming at the mouth but I cannot because Oman's is a non-confrontational culture and so I make the big but docile move: "I don't know where your shop is in Ruwi. I will just send my husband over to talk to you and get directions when he is finished with work." I smile my best wifely smile, which I have been refining throughout our time here. I didn't used to have one of those but I have a killer one now.
"No husband."
"Yes, it's okay, he will come and chat with you later...your name is...Fred (name changed to protect the quasi-innocent)...? I will tell him to look for you."
Fred makes a quick swipe to try to cover his name tag to no avail, mutters, "It will be okay", and I creep out of the store, cursing my lack of dangling anatomy.
Tony heads to the Samsung store two hours later. Within ten seconds of his arrival there he texts and asks which phone I would like in place of the Fame. I bury my head in my hands, picturing Tony and Fred exchanging high fives and chest bumps, and wonder how single women get anything done here.
Single women, how do you do it? If it weren't for the spousal thing, I am sure I would be visa-less and license-less, without electric power or running water, talking on a crappy cell phone in an unregistered motor vehicle.
What is your secret?
So last year I confidently launched myself willy-nilly into the world of smartphones with this lovely right here
 |
| Thankfully I was given only one of these monsters and not two |
and then heralded the milestone with an enthusiastic announcement on my Facebook page--"For my ivory anniversary my true love gave to me, an ivory colored smart phone. How is that for romantic?"
The romance lasted less than a week. I won't go into the gory, phone-fail details, because really the details are not pertinent to my rant. What is pertinent? I lack a penis.
But first a bit more background. So finally having decided that I had had enough of the Duos's free fun features--dropped calls, stalled processing, inadvertent/unplanned shutdowns, delayed response to repeated button pushing, and daily phone freezes--I checked out customer reviews (I know, I know, I should have done that a year ago) only to find that the Samsung Duos is famous for all of the above.
Crap. Now what?
Having been married for a good long time, I know that the best way to get a new anything is to complain loudly and often and so I channeled my inner five-year-old and--voila--a new phone materialized on my pillow on the morning of my birthday. This time it was the Samsung Fame.
 |
| The Samsung Fame. Spoiler alert--also a fail.
I
|
Okay, now the penis part for those of you who have been waiting on the edge of your seats. Fast forward about a week and Tehva and I traipse over to the mall behind our house in order to return the Fame to the Samsung store. I also am planning on requesting store credit so that I can buy something that won't make me bald with frustration. I swagger up to the register only to encounter a heavyset, pasty, salesman with an embroidered dishdasha and an unnerving giggle.
**Snicker giggle** "Oh, you opened the package a week ago? No, no, we cannot take that phone back. Maybe if it was one or two days after, but you opened it a long time ago!"
"A week is a long time?"
"Yes."
"And I could have opened it and returned it two days afterward but not now?"
"Yes...No...Yes."
"Can I speak to your manager?"
Now the woman next to him chimes in, moving her mouth carefully so as not to disengage the cake makeup from her face. "We cannot take that phone back. It is yours. No manager."
I don't move. PastyMan adds to CakeWoman's suggestion by pointing out that maybe the store in Ruwi would be able to help me. (Ruwi, for the uninitiated, is a durn long way from our Muscat burb).
"But my husband bought it here at this store. The salesman is here."
"You can go to Ruwi."
"Can I talk to your manager?"
"You should go to Ruwi."
This is the point at which I feel like foaming at the mouth but I cannot because Oman's is a non-confrontational culture and so I make the big but docile move: "I don't know where your shop is in Ruwi. I will just send my husband over to talk to you and get directions when he is finished with work." I smile my best wifely smile, which I have been refining throughout our time here. I didn't used to have one of those but I have a killer one now.
"No husband."
"Yes, it's okay, he will come and chat with you later...your name is...Fred (name changed to protect the quasi-innocent)...? I will tell him to look for you."
Fred makes a quick swipe to try to cover his name tag to no avail, mutters, "It will be okay", and I creep out of the store, cursing my lack of dangling anatomy.
Tony heads to the Samsung store two hours later. Within ten seconds of his arrival there he texts and asks which phone I would like in place of the Fame. I bury my head in my hands, picturing Tony and Fred exchanging high fives and chest bumps, and wonder how single women get anything done here.
Single women, how do you do it? If it weren't for the spousal thing, I am sure I would be visa-less and license-less, without electric power or running water, talking on a crappy cell phone in an unregistered motor vehicle.
What is your secret?
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