Stupid

A law professor of mine used to say that stupid is the human condition. I take comfort in those words; at least once a day, I am a dunderhead.

Still, I find it’s best to get out in front of the stupid. So when I walk into the Sprint store, I decide to put my cards on the table.

“So this is either one of those simple two-second fixes, or a curious, little mystery that is ultimately solved by replacing the phone and never speaking of it again,” I say. “I’m hoping for the former.”

“Let’s take a look,” the Sprint guy says. “Let me see your phone, bro.”

I hand him my phone and explain how incoming calls have suddenly started going directly to voicemail, how I don’t hear the ring or text notification, and how I’ve made sure that the volume is up and the silent mode switch is toggled to the correct position.

He takes the phone. I remark to his colleague that I’ve never seen the store so empty.

“We love it,” the other Sprint guy says. “We’re thinking about having a dance party.”

A second later, I have my solution.

“You hit the do-not-disturb button,” the first Sprint guy says.

“Pretty stupid,” I say.

“Oh man, don’t even sweat it,” the second Sprint guy says. “We get that like six times a day.”

“Well, thanks for fixing it and making me feel better about this embarrassing episode.”

I head for the door, then turn back.

“What about the dance party?”

Suddenly, there is techno music. The guy who fixed my phone bops his head up and down to the beat. His coworker does a solid Cabbage Patch.

I am not good with technology, but the guys at the Sprint store rock.

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