“Somebody is going to have to take the hit,” the customer service rep explains at the Sprint Store. “It’s going to be him, you, or mom.”
He is a 40-something rocker dude. He’s still got the tats — an overlay of his skeleton from the tips of his fingers to his elbows and a dragon clawing its way up his neck. But he’s given up the cool kicks for New Balance. He likes his phone and his plan.
She is his girlfriend. She continuously sips from an empty Starbucks cup. Several times she jumps off her stool and runs behind the counter. Her plan costs too much, her phone is unreliable, and she “can’t live without” her phone.
Mom is out of the picture. She shares a family plan with her daughter, who can’t decide who is going to take the hit when the three of them move to a new family plan.
The decision is driving him crazy. He’s bouncing up and down like he has to pee, but he doesn’t have to pee, it’s just such a big decision, and they’ve been at it for twenty minutes, and he just can’t take it any longer.
He rests his head on her shoulder. She comforts him, keeps debating her options.
He jumps up, says he needs a slice of pizza.
She calls her mom, explains their options.
He returns with pizza and Subway. The pizza is for her, he says.
“But I want Subway,” she says. “It’s healthier.”
The both want to be the martyr. She wins, eats the pizza. He can’t take it anymore, says he’s going outside.
Through the glass, I see him sit in a handicapped space and eat his 6-inch sub.
She talks it over with the customer service rep.
“We’re going to think about it and come back,” she says.