Verizon Wireless a.k.a Fort Knox

Boy, don't get on the wrong side of the Verizon Wireless.  And by the wrong side, I mean the wrong side of the account.  If you are one of those unlucky people who share an account with someone, and are not named on said account, good luck trying to find out ANYTHING from the clerks at the store.

 Verizon Wireless employees do their staff development training here.  (Ft. Knox, Kentucky)

Today I went into the store, where they greet you the moment you walk into the door, to start a fight, as my dang phone never works and they never help me.

30 bucks a month for data that I can never access???

After being made to feel stupid for hitting the "data" button on the phone - which if you didn't know stops you from being able to access data, I asked about when I could get an upgrade. 

"Do you have your valid photo I.D.?" Johnny-behind-the-counter asked me.

"Umm, yeah, I should." as I start to pull it out.

"Oh, well what's the name on the account."

"Probably my husband.  Do you need his phone number?"

"Well I can't give you any information unless you are on the account.  I can't even pull it up."

I don't get it.  I'm giving you the account information.  I'm not asking for social security numbers.  I'm not trying to STEAL anything.  I just want to know when I can next sign up for your crappy phone service where I pay out the nose for a new (obsolete) phone and data time that I can never use.  I want to know the next time I have to open my vein for the blood-ink I need to sign your two year contract (unholy covenant).  Trust me, my husband (the named account holder) knows nothing of our bills/business and is incapable of making decisions.  Just look at him.

Makes you wanna procreate all night long, doesn't it?

Apparently I am incapable of dealing with the account, because I walked out of there with no new answers.  Gotta love Verizon Wireless, huh?

Lord help me if I have to call about the mortgage...

So I was driving the mini-van (which, incidentally, isn't as horrid as you would think) down the road, allowing my mind to wander as the road meandered about, and I realized that for the rest of my days, my numbers are off.

I have three children.  I have one husband.  I have myself.  That's five for you non-math whiz kids out there.  Five is an awkward number.  Can't have five in one hotel room (unless you get the roll away bed...do they make those anymore?)  Only two of the three can eat for free on kids-eat-free night (unless we bring a stranger in to the restaurant and pay for their dinner, which seems both unwise and expensive). 

One may be the loneliest number that you'll ever do, but five will drive you crazy if you let it, just ask Dolly Parton.