Phone Woes

Last week my cell phone stopped connecting to the Internet. This problem seemed like a no-brainer: I’d take it back to the store where I purchased it, hand over exorbitant amounts of money, and the store would return it—still broken. No, wait, that’s in America. In New Zealand, they return it and it actually works. As a
Kiwi person would say, “Good as gold.”

Before I go on I must tell you how struck I am by the Kiwis’ efficiency. When we got here, I realized I’d need a driving lesson because in this country, you drive on the left. I called Jim Pine’s Driving School, where Jim himself said he’d be delighted to help me learn to drive on the left, parallel park on the left, and cross a round-a-bout on the left without taking out other cars in the process. (I’m still taking out pedestrians on the left, but really, shouldn’t they be driving?)

I asked Jim, “Where should I meet you for the lesson?”

And Jim said, in that great Kiwi accent, “I’ll be round to your flat at half-past fah.”

He was going to pick me up! This, of course, had the added benefit that if we were in an accident, it was my car that would be totaled, while Jim could with his hands shoved into his pockets, blithely walk away, claiming not to know the crazy American driving on the right side of the street, directly into oncoming traffic.
He came. I had my lesson. All was fine. I now drive on the left side of the road except when I forget. For their own safety, pedestrians really should get a car.

I found the same efficiency at the grocery store. If you walk to the store rather than drive, as I did when we first got here (not having met Jim yet), and you have a lot to buy, no problem! The store will gladly loan you a cart. Just give them your address, push your groceries home, and leave the cart in your front yard. Someone from the store will pick it up later. Just imagine trying this at Giant Eagle.

So I took my phone, a Palm phone, to the store where I had purchased it and talked to Dave, a very serious young man who will, I’m sure, be moving up the cell phone corporate ladder. He thoughtfully and efficiently took my information while I told about my Internet problem. He explained perhaps with an upgrade in the system, my phone would once again connect to the Internet. I could get used to dealing with such efficient people. Then, as he finished filling out the form, he asked, “What phone number can we reach you at to let you know your phone is fixed?”

Remember, this is a very accommodating country. They put banks and mail services together because it occurred to them that you might need to mail bills, checks, or letters right from the bank. When you want to cancel your paper to go on holiday, a cheery person actually answers the phone on the second ring and takes care of your request. And she does it in LESS time than any web service I’ve used for the same purpose.

So there I stood at the cell phone counter. Dave looked at me expectantly, holding my only phone in his hand. “I don’t have another phone,” I said. Then I added hopefully, “Can I give you my email address?”

“We don’t have a space on the form for email, just a phone number.” Reluctantly, I gave him Dear Husband’s work number. This doesn’t solve the situation, though, because there’s no guarantee I’ll get the message. DH is working. He doesn’t need to be my personal assistant. And he wouldn’t make a very good one anyway. Early in our stay here, before I had a cell phone, a woman colleague of his invited me to lunch. The day before our lunch meeting, she needed to change the location. She asked DH to let me know. He did—two days after the lunch date.

A week after I dropped off my phone, I returned and spoke with Dave. He told me the software was updated and assured me that it should work just fine now. It was the way he said “should” that concerned me.

I called Dear Daughter to test the connection. The phone part worked fine. Technology is so great. We can read newspapers from China, check stock prices on Wall Street, send pictures from New Zealand to Pittsburgh. However, all these functions required an Internet connection which—on my phone—does not work.

Still exploring the phone, I noticed a new text message. It was from Dave! I figured he was texting me to check how the connection is working, ask me to fill out a customer satisfaction survey, or just to say hope you enjoy your stay in New Zealand. Here’s the message in total: “Hi this is Dave from the Vodafone store. Your Palm has been returned, from the repair agent and is ready to collect. Thanks, David.”

How efficient! Of course, I had no way of receiving this message since Dave had my phone when he sent it.
For the most part NZ is a smooth-running place. Mail a bill right from the bank, push your groceries home in the cart, or take a driving lesson. But don’t try to cross the street when I’m driving. And DH, I hope you’re reading this, because I’m tired of my Palm and I want an iPhone. Like the Kiwis’ most of the time the iPhone works.

Advertisement