Y'All Ain't Gon' Believe This Shit, Part Two

Before I get into the meat of this story: FUCK SPRINT. FUCK RADIO SHACK.

It's officially 12:37 p.m., and I've got no cellphone, thanks to the numbnuts at both companies.

Long story, made even longer: I went into Radio Shack yesterday to buy Sprint's new Touch phone, which is their answer to the iPhone. Pretty sweet-ass phone.

I arrive at Radio Shack around 7:30 p.m, Tuesday night. I pick out the phone, go through the paperwork, and it turns out I'm eligible for $75 off on this phone. Cool. I get rung up and have one foot out the door when Radio Shack sales clerk tells me we have a problem.

The proper eligibility code didn't ring up on their computer, which would allow me to receive the $75.

OK, I don't speak Radio Shack-ese, so I'm looking at him like he just said something in Swahili. Sales Clerk, a pudgy looking gay-ish guy, explains he must call Sprint and get the proper code so that I may be properly credited for this purchase.

45 minutes later -- no bullshit -- he thinks he's got the proper code. He doesn't. He calls back again. 45 minutes later -- which means I have now been in this fuck-ass store for damn near THREE HOURS trying to spend MY MONEY -- he basically doesn't know what the fuck to do.

Let me give you a little background about Sprint's customer service in case you don't know. It's shitty. This is the same company who announced a few months ago that customers who call and complain too much would have their contracts terminateD. Basically, they're on some miss-a-step-today, you'll-be-frying-fish tomorrow shit. Complain one extra time, and they're doing you like Suge Knight did Vanilla Ice.

At this point, I'm frustrated and pissed, but trying to remain somewhat professional. I don't want to give the white folks what they want, which is to see me go from Zero to Rashida. I'm trying to handle this like an adult, but still get across that this bullshit is acceptable.

I called Sprint myself. An hour later -- meaning I had now been in this store DAMN NEAR FOUR HOURS -- Sprint decides you know what? Fuck a code. We'll just send you the phone ourselves. They gave me some credit, upped my rebate and tried to somewhat makeup for the inconvenience. Although, the insulting part was, while I'm boiling about this bullshit, the ho' ass Sprint operator tried to sell me some shit. I'm like, BITCH, now ain't the time for you to be telling me about buying unlimited Internet access. If I had a fucking bomb, I'd plant that shit right at Sprint headquarters, and now you wanna talk to me about some trivial bullshit I can add for an extra $60 a month?

FUCK SPRINT.

At this point, FOUR HOURS LATER, I'm thinking the problem has basically been solved. Nuh-uh. Gay Pudgy Boy tries to switch me back on my original phone (the same phone I walked into the store with), and is finding that the "system" -- this ol' Coleco-bullshit-ass-Pac-Man-throwback computer they got up in Radio Shack -- isn't allowing them to. After another 45 minute phone call to Sprint -- WE'RE ON FIVE FUCKING HOURS NOW -- it's determined that ain't shit gon' happen. I had to leave my phone at Radio Shack, and basically deal with that shit the next day.

Now, the next day is here, I still don't have a fucking phone. My account is showing I purchased two phones, which is completely incorrect. You would think in situations like these muahfuckas at Radio Shack are trying to offer me new DVD players, a free subscription to Maxim, some Kleenex, some Now-Laters -- just something that would make me feel better about having wasted about nine hours of my life trying to get a phone from their punk ass store. Nuh-uh.

Well, Sprint and Radio Shack, I'm well past a Rashida-level of anger. I'm officially on some shit with a prefix and an apostrophe, a La' Princia or some shit. I'm on some, where the fuck is my blade? I'm on some, it ain't nothing between but space and opportunity. I'm on some, whip dat ass like Ike did Tina when she didn't hit that note right in the second verse.

FUCK SPRINT.
FUCK RADIO SHACK.