I’m on the way home from our nation’s capital.

Actually, to be more specific, I’m on the way home from a little cookie-cutter suburb about half-an-hour north of our nation’s capital, named Rockville, Maryland.

It's possible that Rockville, Maryland might be the capital of something, but the odds are pretty good that it’s the “200+ Thread-Count Duvet Capital” or “The Residents Who Undergo Regular Prostate Exams Capital” or something equally mundane. For the most part, it was just hotels and chain restaurants…though I’ll concede that I really only saw as much as was within walking distance…which includes my hotel, and the chain-restaurant complex next to my hotel. So, for all I know, it may very well have been a small town inhabited by mermaid queens and fairie pixies of yore…but most of what I saw was little Mexican men working behind the swinging white doors at the chain restaurants, and little Haitian women who leave new soaps by your tub every morning.

I promise, this is not a blog entry about race, class, immigration, or the plight of poor Spanish-speakers in America.

It is, however, a post about the mystery of capitalism.

See, here’s the thing…when I was growing up, my dad and mom would come each evening into my bedroom and take turns lying down for 5-10 minutes with me to help me go to sleep. We’d talk about the day, we’d talk about what to expect tomorrow, and we’d talk about whatever it is they felt like talking to me about in order to get me to calm down enough to sleep. My mom, for the most part, nurtured. It’s what she’s best at, and I can tell you she’s brilliant at it. She would say comforting things and kind things and sleepy-bye kinds of things. It’s a wonderful topic for another post.

My dad, however, preferred to teach. I loved it. He would talk about how combustion engines work, or what Mastadons looked like, or how our bodies turn oxygen into carbon dioxide or how a bill becomes a law. Mind you…I was, like seven. But he told it so well, and with such interest and drama, that I was enthralled, and I was actually learning it.…it’s one of the reasons I think I know so many helpful little bits of reality today. One of my favorite talks…and one which I remember fondly…was the one about capitalism. He would tell me, night after night, about supply and demand. About widgets, and how the trick for the manufacturer was to create interest in widgets through advertising and PR, thereby increasing the demand, and then to meet that demand by orchestrating a supply. And the sweet spot, he explained, was to come as close to meeting demand as possible with the supply…that’s where the real profit was. He always said, “A thing is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it...no less, and no more.” It was a beautiful and simple explanation for a terrifically complex subject, and it’s the reason why I can always pay less for a hotel, an eBay purchase, and concert tickets.

And I’ve always believed it. I believe Adam Smith when he says that supply and demand will control the market. I believe my college economics prof when he says that competition will hone the skills and agility of business the way natural selection hones the skills and agility of the woodland critters. I’ve believed that good businesses (or bad businesses with good marketing) will succeed, and bad business will either sharpen its operation, or it will fail.

Yes, yes…I believed all of it…my dad, my economics prof, Adam, Karl…

…and then, I went to a Verion Wireless store.



Good freaking god.



Let me back up. My phone died two days ago. Dunno why, just ceased to function. Fortunately, my hotel was directly across a very busy street from a Verizon Wireless retail store, which has a counter marked “customer service,” and a counter marked “technical support.” (The poetic irony of these two appellations will strike you in a minute). I was so excited; I thought I may be able to turn my phone in on my lunch break, and perhaps pick it up later that day or early the next.

Yes, that’s what I thought indeed. And it's only now that I realize, that’s a little like thinking, “perhaps my sweater will turn to solid marmalade that I could eat on my flight home.”

Instead, what happened was I entered a customer-support-hell, full of very very angry customers, and some tremendously stupid employees.

I don’t mean stupid like, “My god, that pizza man is so stupid, he forgot to give me back my change.” Rather, I mean stupid like, “Hey, is that tubby guy with the absent grin pooping his pants right now?”

The Verizon Wireless store in Rockville Maryland, should anyone ever ask you, is operated by a gang of imbecilic 17-year-olds whose IQ’s are only subbed by their basmented sense of motivation and pride in their work. I won’t get into the furry details, lest you get so empathetically angry that you punch your screen…but I will summarize:

Phone dies =
6 trips to Verizon Wireless store in Rockville Maryland.
4.5 total hours spent waiting in the lobby for the lethargic teens of tech support to diagnose the problem
2 new batteries, one of which didn’t fit in my phone, but was jammed in forcefully by Malak in tech support, in the hopes that maybe if the wrong battery is pushed into the wrong phone hard enough, God will sympathize and provide power to the phone.
1 complete loss of all my address book and contacts. The only reason this "1" wasn’t a higher number is because, let’s face it, you can only completely lose something once.
2 battery covers, neither of which fit, and one of which, I’m pretty sure, was just the top to a peanut butter jar.
2 brand new V710 Motorola phones to replace the one that Malak-the-tech-support-guy broke with the battery. (The second new one was to replace the first new one, which Greg in tech support broke when he dropped it trying to get the wrong battery cover on it).

And…in case you’re interested…I eventually did what the guys in Tech Support at Verizon Wireless could not…I figured out what was wrong with my original phone.



...The battery charger wasn’t working.

Seriously…it just needed a new battery charger.

Not a new battery, mind you. A charger. The little thing you plug into the wall.

That’s it.

And now I’m out a phone.

I was not alone…in the 4.5 hours that I stood in line at Verizon Wireless over the course of six trips, I watched at least 50 people get very very very angry with the people who work there. The employees were slow, they were stupid, they were poorly trained, they were poorly equipped, and they lacked basic customer support skills.

And, if capitalism works like it is supposed to, this store would be shut down. Its managers would be fired and its employees would be thrown to the wolves with nothing but their glitter encrusted cell phones, Usher or Beyonce ring-tone blaring, to protect them. If capitalism works, I would have a working phone and I would have spent another hundred bucks on cheap plastic electronic goodies while I was there, just because I was so enthralled with this amazing store and it’s brilliant associates.

Instead, I’m just pissed. And Verizon Wireless is still getting my $120 a month, because they offer better shitty service than the other shitty phone companies.

Hey, I wonder if the Verizon Wireless store in Rockville, Maryland is hiring? I’m pretty sure I know a guy…he sat two rows behind me at an Over the Rhine concert recently…

Peace,
Justin