Tomorrow is September 20th, which is a big day for me. Specifically, it is the day that my contract with Sprint expires, and I am free to find greener, faster pastures with better reception and lower monthly costs. That is, I'm free to switch to Verizon, which seems to be the only verdant pasture in this city. To say that New Orleans is an island is not always a literal statement.
Admittedly, I'm nervous. I've had Sprint as long as I've had a cell phone. My dad worked (and works) with the company, so it was a no-brainer for them. When my parents kicked me off their plan after college, and I delved into the world of online cell-related research, Sprint seemed to be my best option, despite its high cost. I renewed with hesitation at first, but with each successive contract expiration, I thought about it less and less. I hopped right back on that mule of a service provider, as though it were a purebred stallion.
Sprint is not all bad. In fact, when I was in Virginia, I had absolutely no problems with them. Good reception, good data, good service. Of course, data speeds weren't really a thing at the time...and I wasn't particularly worried about the cost; I was a college student mooching off my parents, after all.
What's that, dad? I went over the text message limit this month? Oops.
It has taken a lot to get me to a point where I'm willing to end my cellationship with Sprint. We had a lot of good times together, and we've tried to make it work. We've got history, you know? With Sprint, I know I can amass ridiculous fees, call up customer service, and pull the "I've been a customer for more than a decade!" line to make things go away. But even that safety net can't make me renew again. I can't keep up this charade any longer. I can't continue, knowing that I'm completely unable to send or receive text messages, call, or do anything even remotely helpful with my phone anytime there are two or more people nearby. I can get Jesus, but I can't get cell reception.
For some people, reception in a crowd probably isn't much of a factor. But this is New Orleans. We pass our lives, moving from crowd to crowd. Have you ever tried to find someone during Mardi Gras without cell reception? I have. It's terrible. A few years ago, I was sandwiched between a huge police horse and a large drunk man, alternating between waving my phone in the air and yelling at it: Worthless piece of crap! I just want to know where my ride went! I will never get back home if you won't send this text message! Please! Please just let me send these thirteen characters (sob), please. Anger turns to begging, begging turns to tears. I would've been embarrassed, but it was Mardi Gras. Crying and shouting are not uncommon in this great city at carnival time.
So, it's time to make a change. As with all changes, there's no guarantee that my service will be better. Mardi Gras will probably still kill my phone. The Superdome will probably continue to act as a giant, wave-blocking shield. Living within a mile of Jazz Fest will probably still be too close to avoid a tower overload. But who knows? Maybe next time I'm stuck between a drunk and a horse, I'll be able to save my shouting for the Mister on the float and my tears for the impending toe-stomp.
Now I just have to figure out what phone to get.
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| Can you hear me now? |
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