The Sprint Store

I walked into the Sprint store in West Valley City and stood around, looking interested in various phones for a few minutes while I waited for a salesperson to take notice of me. They were all very busy: one was talking on her mobile phone, two were behind the counter obviously helping customers on the other side, and a fourth was busy trying to silence the “someone tried to steal a phone!” alarm spewing from one of the aisles. Eventually, Alarm-Guy turned the ear-piercing shriek off and asked how he could help me.

“The two-year contract on my PPC6700 expired yesterday. I would like to buy a new phone. I want a Palm Centro, in red, and I want to pay $99 for it.”

“I can help you with that, let’s go over to the counter.”

<walk walk walk>

“What’s your phone number?” says he.

I give it to him. At that moment, I get a text message from a friend. I read, reply, and return to the conversation. Apparently, Alarm-Guy — who’s name was Ed — is used to such interruptions.

Ed types in a bunch of stuff on a little terminal. He goes to the back room. He retrieves a box, pulls a phone out of it, pops in the battery, and begins configuring it.

“Would you rather pay today, or have the charge appear on your bill?”

I reply, “I’d rather be billed.”

“OK, sign on the pen screen to agree to a new two-year contract.”

“What’s the charge to break the contract?” I asked.

“$200.”

“Sold.”

I decided to read the contract. Five scrolling pages later, Ed helpfully informs me that I need to press “Finish” in order to sign the contract. I knew that, but I like to read what I’m agreeing to. Five more scrolling pages later, after reading something regarding goat’s blood and my first-born child, I decide to forgo reading the rest of the extremely lengthy contract and sign.

Ed prints out a very, very long receipt. “Sign this and we’ll bill you.”

I sign. He hands me a receipt, a box, and a beautiful red Palm Centro phone. “Have a nice day and enjoy your new phone!”

I pause. He looks at me quizzically, eager to serve the next customer. “Ed, was it just me, or did we just go this entire transaction without you ever asking me for any form of identification? I mean, I just walked in, gave you the phone number, signed a couple things, and am walking out with a new phone, and am getting a bill for it.”

Ed blanched. “I asked you for your password, didn’t I?”

I shook my head.

“No, no, I didn’t,” he continued, “you got a message on your phone right as I was going to ask for it. Sorry about that.”

Now, people give off subtle visual cues. I’ve noticed that people tend to just trust me anyway, even though I’m lazy, irresponsible, and should never be trusted with the keys to your new car. I guess I give off the “nice guy, trust him” vibe or something. In fact, leaving that same Sprint store, another salesperson asked if I was some truck driver that she knew who wanted a new phone. I had to politely reply that I wasn’t.

I left the store a little disturbed, though. If someone equally as trustworthy-looking walked into a Sprint store, could they walk out with a free phone on my tab?