AT+Teed Off and Dreading the Wal-Apocalypse

Tuesday's woe was waiting for the cops to respond in the wake of my iPhone theft and the anger, frustration, dismay and disgust that followed. I didn't sleep Tuesday night, and my beautiful son was the only thing that kept a smile on my face until Mike came home from work. But Tuesday's petty crime was eclipsed by the corporate crime committed by AT+T (and by association, Apple.) I wasted a solid 7.5 hours (no exaggeration) yesterday trying to replace my stolen phone without being ripped off again. Turns out that AT+T is a far greater thief than the thug who made off with my phone. Michael Alexander and I spent well over two hours in the Apple retail store only to be dropped four times while on the line with an AT&T representative, entering and speaking the same information each time. The Apple representative went twice to look for a "floating" mobile phone, as the iPhones attached to the displays at the store kept dropping calls. Welcome to AT+T! The self-professed "leader in telecommunication services" can't provide basic service! Welcome to the third (world) generation of telecoms! I had better success making calls in remote eastern Africa. And, of course, there were no "floater" phones in the store, the rep said, as they had all been stolen. I finally managed to get through a full call with an AT+T rep, all the while hunched over as the phones are attached by short cords to curb theft. I was left with information contradicting what Mike was told when he called to suspend my account. As I spent up to 45 minutes a try squatting and squirming to use the display phone, I was holding and engaging Michael Alexander and clutching my purse, as I've become paranoid since Tuesday's theft. No wonder my back was especially sore, preventing me from sleeping. (I go for a nerve test tomorrow. The pain is worse than ever.) I left the Apple store without a new phone and headed to an AT+T store, as that's what the Apple reps suggested. All I wanted was to buy a new phone and not renew my contract, which has a full year of commitment left. AT+T informed me that I cannot buy a new phone without a new, two-year contract. That is criminal! If I cancel my contract halfway through, I pay a penalty, but the corporate "leader" can bully me into signing on for another two years of dis-service? And the retail cost to replace my stolen phone is $599! To make a very long and trying tale shorter, I was again (mis)informed by the Apple rep and an AT+T rep who said I could buy a refurbed iPhone online or at an authorized AT+T dealer and reactive my current contract. I then visited an AT+T dealer who reiterated that I could get a refurb and continue my contract. Skipping errands, Michael Alexander and I headed home some four hours after we set out on what I had hoped would be a simple task. He's no worse for the wear, mind you, smiling and giggling and babbling and rejoicing as I carried him for dozens of blocks so he could see the sights and faces. I then spent nearly four more hours online chatting with or calling AT+T reps only to be dropped from four chat sessions and three more calls. That's AT+T's "commitment to service excellence!" Meanwhile, my darling husband was also making calls, well past 7:30 p.m. while I was at the gym, my only break from this customer dis-service nightmare. His calls kept dropping, too. For AT+T to claim it has any customer "service" at all is a brazen lie. It has any army of ill- or mis-informed salesdrones competing with each other and ratting out their colleagues (note: sarcastic use of colleague), and blaming them for the last lie. The passive-aggressive blame game started at the Apple store, where the blue T-shirts dismissed AT+T's reps as "knowing nothing" about the "service" they claim to provide. Then each subsequent AT+T rep (from the retail store to the phone bank to the chatroom) said her/his counterpart was "wrong" to tell me something different and that s/he was telling me the "reality." OK, only one said "reality", another said "honest truth." Ha! Just as I thought it would be impossible to loathe any corporate criminal incompetent more than AT+T, I read about Wal-Mart's plan to spread its evil empire into my beloved city. Part of what distinguishes us from the red state ingrates is that we are Wal-free. There already are so many wretched chains in Manhattan, but I like to believe that most patrons of these retail wretches are the tourists who come here to be exploited by the same big boxes that infest their hometowns, only with a higher price tag. (And of course, they complain about the prices! I have a great way to avoid the added costs: Stay home!) I like to believe that the majority of my fellow city dwellers choose News Cafe over Starsucks. I like to believe. (Clicking the heels of my ruby slippers, I repeat three times: "There's no place like home.") Fellow New Yorkers, please help keep our home one with independent businesses that survive by offering a superior product and real customer service! Please stay out of these menacing big boxes when possible. (I acknowledge I do shop at Babies 'R' Us, but that's a different story and a debate I'm happy to take on, just not right now.) Please do all you can to keep the Walmartians out of New York! Please help preserve humanity, community and democracy! Shopping at a Wal-Mart is a great crime against democracy. As destor23 commented on Gawker's "What Would Wal-Mart Mean for New York?" post: "Only one thing can stop this: New Yorkers have to not shop at these mini-monstrosities. Frankly, the city has become so chainified already that I think it will be tough to actually get people to not go there but just remember... first the Walmartians land and then New York's streets wind up clogged with fatties on Medicare-subsidized scooters. From there it's all Tea Party all the time. You have been warned." Don't worry, destor23, I promise our son will never, ever enter a Wal-Mart as long as he's living under our roof! And trust that we will do everything in our power to instill in him the ethics to make the right decision and fight the Wal.

Steve Maddening Day

Today started out great. I woke feeling well rested. My left lumbar pain wasn't debilitating. My son was giggling and smiling and eating organic apples and bananas. A day free of conference calls, doctors appointments and deadlines, I was looking forward to a morning and afternoon and evening of great accomplishments, including cleaning out my closet. I made great strides with the closet this morning and then decided to take a break to go shopping for Mike's costume for his Friday performance and for a new pair of boots. I stopped by the Steve Madden store in Union Square yesterday while running errands and saw a pair of high boots that were actually high enough. Most boots and pants are designed for short women, or those who are 5'5" and shorter, but this pair would reach the knees, even on an amazon. Perfect, except they didn't have them in my size. Size 10 shoes sell out quickly, especially boots designed with tall girls in mind. The sales associate called the SoHo store and said they would hold them for me. While searching for Daddy's costume, I figured Michael Alexander and I could make a quick stop at the SoHo store. I lived in the central Village, on the cusp of SoHo, for more than a decade before moving to Union Square and always loved wandering Broadway, whether I was shopping or just window shopping. Things have changed. SoHo, or at least Broadway, has always attracted tourists along with the beautiful people, or natives, but it's never been this ugly, I'm sure. It used to be mostly fashionable European tourists, who were obvious only because of their maps and guide books. But these days the corn-fed middle Americans who rarely stray from Times Square are clogging the sidewalks. I should have run away immediately when I saw every Abercrombie teen, tween and her sister with their uptight mothers trying on pair after pair of boots and hooker heels. But I thought I could quickly get the pair saved for me, try them on and buy them if they fit. Ha! After 20 minutes, a sales associate informed me the boots weren't on hold, so I showed her the pair. 15 minutes later, I got the pair. As I turned away (for a few seconds at best) from the stroller, which was secured with the break and my foot under the front tire so I'd know if anyone tried to touch it, someone snagged my iPhone and ran off. I didn't see him, but a lovely young Russian woman did and agreed to stay and give the cops a description. She and her friend were an exception to the typical crowd at a Steve Madden store on weekdays, these days. Needless to say, I didn't get the boots, which had a broken zipper. When I asked to use the phone to call the cops, the store manager said to me, "I don't know why you're mad at me. It's not my fault," and handed me a photocopy of an NYPD-issued statement about how the store isn't responsible for stolen stuff. I was so shaken, I didn't even respond. He's bitter from dealing with droves of obnoxious tourists who will never return, and treats everyone as if they shop at Wal-Mart, the ultimate sin against democracy. (More on that another time.) It took another 40 minutes for the cop to come. The Russian woman and her friend waited the whole time. For every thief, there are two human beings. That was about the only thing that kept me from weeping and losing all faith in humanity. I know it's just an iPhone. I know I am lucky he didn't take my Michael Kors wallet with my credit cards, or my Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, or my most-precious Marc Jacobs bag. And I am very thankful he didn't harm my son, who was oblivious to the incident, smiling as I held him tight, rattled by the manager's callous indifference and offended that he treated me like one of those people. But still, I am shaken and stirred and sad. What made me sad was my reaction, what I felt, but didn't articulate. This petty crime brought out my worse-than-petty elitist attitude. "Well, what can you can you expect from a low-end store like Steve Madden where all these tourists and tweens shop?" I blamed myself a little for even being there, for making myself a potential target just by shopping with so many victims-to-be. I am savvy. I am a city person. I am strong. This guy stole more than my phone. He robbed me of a day's ambitions (I should have had the closet immaculate, the laundry in the dryers and dinner prepped by now); he disrupted my whole week's schedule (a work-from-home mom only has so many hours a day to get things done); and he made me feel ... ugh ... so.hard.to.say.it ... helpless. I couldn't run out after him. I have a son to watch and care for. That is my priority. Period. He knew that. The short (shorter than me), awkward and dumpy thief (based on the 5'9" witness' description), was no adversary for me. I could take him. He couldn't outrun me. He couldn't escape from my headlock, withstand my pounding. He couldn't look me in the eye and not shudder with fear. But he got away. And it's because I am a mom, and he knows I would never look away from my son long enough to let anything happen to him. Just long enough for some wimpy thief to snatch my phone. Replacing the phone is a costly hassle that's going to set me back even further this week. That sucks. But what really sucks is how I feel about society right now. How I feel about stores that cater to tourists and allow such thieves to lurk and blend in with the low-rent crowd. "If were shopping at Prada across the street," I thought to myself, "this wouldn't happen because the store associates and managers would notice this guy and I wouldn't be lost in a sea of Walmartians." I'll never go back to a Steve Madden store. The shoes are crappy anyway. And I'll be watching my belongings like a hawk, suspecting every suspicious-looking (whatever that means, another judgment) person when I do return to Broadway. The back pain's back and I am headed back to conquer the closet, with a lot less enthusiasm. Guess I won't be tossing my old boots. They have a broken zipper, just like the new ones at Steve Madden.