A young lad on a red t-shirt walks towards me, and asks me to join a huge line of people. -Good morning sir–says the guy– would you please queue up?
-G’day. Yup, sure.–
Queuing up is not a funny thing to do. However, it helps you observe a world that otherwise would keep moving too fast. Far inside the store, just before the horizon, a lonely girl with a desperate look in her eyes, sits behind a small white desk and talks to an elder woman which looks like she barely can keep the piss into her underwear. Probably the whole problem is that the new gen you-will-get-used-to-it-soon phone her smartass nephew got her for Christmas is turned off again. I do my best not to loose my coat of patience and take a look at the horde of phones that stare back at me from the shelves. Different prices for different ways to be hooked up to modern times, in order to waste time stupidly. But then again, that’s what I got here for, innit?
Two hours and four wrong pin codes later, I get to talk to the lady at the desk.–Hi sir–she says–May I help you?
–Not really, just wasting my time –I quickly turn away and then turn around again. She looks at me as if I had a fly on my face the size of an apple. Obviously she’s not up to any jokes by that hour of the day.
–Just kidding– I say– Actually, I was wondering If I could get a new phone: the old one seems wrecked–.I pull a tiny black cell phone off my jacket and leave it over the table.
- See? Time for a new one. Maybe my account allows me for a new terminal?
She does not pay attention to the thing and talks like an automaton while slipping a dusty brochure under my nose:
- Sure sir, we have a great promotion for our cliens, for a Nokia or a Motorola. The Nokia has some nice wood finish to it. Both are five year old models only–.
I take a look at the brochure she shows me. Then look to the lady. Back to the brochure. Back to the lady again.
–Five year old models?–I shout, grabbing back my phone – Damn! I’d be faster to send a pigeon with a note than a text message with one of these!. No way! I mean, I have been a loyal client for the past eight years and the only phone you have available for me is an A-Class Crapbag with buttons in it?
–Sir, there’s no need to shout, maybe you want to try one of our…–
–I don’t want to try nothing!. I ‘ve been waiting here for ages and now I want a new phone, or I want YOU to get my old phone fixed! Right now!!–
The guy on the red t-shirt comes to the desk as I grow nervous.
–¡What now!– I say, pointing at them with my menacing broken phone– ¿are you threatening me?¿You muck around with me, and now you see I’m not an average stupid that digs your crap, you start threatening me or what?
The girl looks embarrassed. The rest of the people at the store stare at us as they slowly step back off me. One or two leave the place.
–Sir–says the guy– If you don’t calm down, I will have to ask you to leave the store.
I smack on the table with the cell phone. Once. Twice. The girl stands up, grabs her own phone and tries to call someone.–Sir, please calm down– she begs.
–I am as calm as a damn fat Buddha you pricks, now get me my bloody new phone! - at that point, the phone is the less of my worries. I know me. I know me, and I'm about to make an scene. Sometimes is the only way to get what you deservem right? So I keep going:
-You know what? You’re are all the same, only wanting to make money, no matter how much we spend on these stupid phones! You only want more, more, more! Now I need you to help me and you offer me shit without even listening to me, you know what?, I think you treat me like this because I’m black!.
Absolute silence. I don't know why the hell I just said that.
–Sir …–The clerks look at each other, then both take a look at me, their eyes wide open, round as soup dishes– you are not black, sir. Please calm down. –
Two policemen break into the store, followed by the old lady. Bitch.
-I can't believe you called the coppers you old mummy! Dammit! You called the coppers!
–Drop the detonator, sir! Drop the detonator! -As I still hold my old phone and shake it around like a weapon, they think I’m some sort of terrorist, and so they start pointing at me with their guns.
–Well that does it, you suckers!– My face is red burning in anger– I came here peacefully and this is what I get? This is a police state! – I raise the phone high in the air whilst screaming ¡Police state! ¡Police State!. By that time, everybody in the place is sure that I have a belt full of explosives underneath my jacket. Suddenly, the phone switches on somehow. Someone's calling. I laugh hysterically when I recognise the phone company number on it, and as I try to pick it up, the coppers shout:
NO!- and shoot me down.
The phone falls off my hands as I lay into the floor. Voices fade away, some insulting, some calling for an ambulance. The last thing I hear before I faint, comes from the guy in the red t-shirt. He holds my phone, turns it around and then looks at his colleague. Then says:
–Unbelievable! This phone is not from our company! This idiot got into the wrong store!
