Wireless service carriers seem to encompass an economy all their own,
exempt of most standards of fair play. I
was an early adopter of portable phone technology, having been graced with a
car-phone-in-a-bag as a present for a thirty-something birthday. Over the years, these phones have become
untethered, smaller, lighter, and smarter.
The one thing they have never become is cheaper. Despite spiraling technological advances that
make nanochips virtually free, the promise of “more for less” cannot seem to
win a battle against the need to continuously increase corporate profits.
It started with nearly-free phones. Wireless
service providers care only about recurring service revenue streams, so they
started to give phones away just to get people to sign service contracts. Then a funny thing happened. People stopped using the phone part and
started flooding every available inch of bandwidth with texts. The phone itself became an important personal
appliance, multitasking so many of life’s trivial details. Eventually, the phone became a platform, the
competitive feature that distinguished service providers. Consumers chose providers by the coolness
factor of the phones that were compatible with their services. Even Apple was
forced to give in to Verizon, marrying the most sought-after phone with the
most ubiquitous service carrier.
Then, the technology of phones began spiraling out of
control, creating new “must-haves” every fifteen minutes. The business shifted away from capturing new
cell phone users and signing up new customers.
The market is now glutted with people who swear allegiance to a
preferred carrier lest they suffer a $175 termination fee. All we want is the latest and greatest new
phone. That’s when wireless carriers got
cocky. Phones are no longer incentives
for attracting customers. They are
torture devices with which to abuse existing customers, causing us to jump
through whatever hoops they throw in our path just to get our hands on the
latest phone. We have all become slaves
to the “eligible for upgrade” date on our contracts, counting the months and days
until we can renew ourselves with the latest “precious.”
This system works well enough for most people; but like all
things in our society there is an oppressed minority lurking under the
surface. The moms of the world are
suffering under a cell-phone-dominated regime.
Women like me, who anchor a share plan that extends to their kids, are
exploited to their own detriment. Until very recently, I carried an LG flip phone with 9-key texting ability devoid of smart
features while my children sported iPhones and Blackberrys. What could I do? Their friends all drive Porsches!
We had staggered upgrade dates on our phones, always
anticipating an upgrade window in the near future. Eagerly, I planned my ascent into modern times,
hoping that when the next upgrade date arrived I could finally have a device
with a colored screen and a full texting keyboard. I always knew the exact date, counting
silently and patiently as it approached and trying not to jinx it. But without fail, when the date arrived, one
of my kids would have a phone disaster:
this one had theirs stolen on campus, that one dropped theirs in the
toilet. My dreams were dashed, causing
me to bury my dumb device deep into my purse with shame as I allowed my
children to beam with joy at their hip new phones.
It was sad, but it was also my own fault. There is nothing I won’t do for my kids.
Last year, as my baby was leaving for college with a cracked
screen on her blackberry and intermittently-performing buttons, I called
Verizon to see what was available. All
kids need to start college with a clean slate, I reasoned. We were able to get a comparable phone for a
reasonable price, but once again an upgrade slot was stolen from me, pushing
out the next upgrade date deep into 2013.
Exasperated, I broke down, whining and whimpering to the sympathetic
saleswoman about my dashed hopes and crushed dreams. I so wanted an iPhone. I had been a customer of theirs for 13 years,
I argued, and I was still using a phone I acquired 8, maybe 9 years earlier. I explained that every upgrade had gone to my
children; while away at college I needed them to have capabilities that made it
easy to receive frequent texts from me.
Surely I wasn’t the only mother in this predicament. Surely they had heard this tune before.
My pleas did not fall on deaf ears. This sales person was a mother herself and
she understood. She put me on hold for a
very long time, but when she came back on the line she told me that her manager
had authorized an iPhone for me at the discounted price. I was not entitled to an upgrade, but they
made an exception. The corporate giant
had a momentary lapse into humanity. I
swore allegiance up and down as they explained that the new contract terms had
upped the early termination fee from $175 to $350. I did not mind the $30 per month charge for
each smartphone on top of the $120 monthly service fee. I paid an extra fee to buy unlimited text for
us all. I did not care what it cost; I
wanted ‘happy’ and discovered that there was, indeed, an app for that!
But that was last year.
Now there is a new beauty in town and I want her number: “5”. I bit the bullet and placed the call to
Verizon to discover what fresh hell I must endure. Whatever love I had for them a year ago was
quickly forgotten as I was treated to a laundry list of can’ts and won’ts. My existing contract, which I had agreed to keep
until the next millennium, is no longer valid. To get a new phone I must switch to a new plan
with a new list of terms and conditions.
Gone is the unlimited text plan. I must now purchase cyberspace by the
gigabyte. If I do not purchase a healthy
enough plan, the cost for inadvertently exceeding the allowance is twice
the price of purchasing the next level of coverage.
And now when you upgrade a phone on the allowed upgrade date, they
charge a $35 “activation fee.” This is basically a tax on exercising your right to purchase a new phone. I guess
Verizon figured out that while the hardware vendors were discounting the
phones, the service providers were doing all the work of the upgrades. And the most fascinating part of all is that
while the discounted iPhone is only $199, they charge sales tax on the full retail price of
the phone.
Choking down the remorse I knew I would feel and rationalizing
that my birthday is just around the corner, I agreed to everything and ordered
my new iPhone 5, determined to enjoy the status of having the best phone in the
family (when it finally ships next month). I added up the list of charges
and considered what type of car such a monthly payment could secure. I thought of the poorer neighborhoods through
which I have driven, noting how often I see kids with better phones than
mine. What does it say about us as a
society that we put so much emphasis on these little power boxes? What power does technology wield to defy all
reason, to upend priorities, to shift our human values? It was then I realized that I do not need
this silly toy. I picked up the phone to
cancel my order. As I slid the lock open
and searched the recent call list, I planned a graceful retreat that would
restore order to my life and self-respect to my aura.
But just as quietly, I hit End before the call went
through. I shook my head, took a deep
breath, and went back to work.
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