Getting Engaged with Mobile Upgrades

Cingular wants a relationship with you. Our cell service provider wooed both Abby and I into the a deeper commitment yesterday, when all we wanted was a newer phone for my gal. Nokia's 5165 phones — so popular two years ago you could buy a colored faceplate for them on Amazon — tend to shed their batteries after awhile. The skinny battery slipped off her phone once too often, so she wanted something newer.



I suspected it would not be as simple as buying a newer phone and having Cingular activate it. But I was hopeful as we drove to the closest Cingular retail outlet. We had no luck getting upgraded over the Web; we were ATT Wireless customers who got assimilated by the Cingular/SBC Borg, and Cingular's Web site just doesn't know how to upgrade a phone that didn't start in the Cingular system. (It was our third assimilation, after starting out as GTE customers in 2001, then seeing GTE become Cingular a year later. Billing problems drove us to ATT, but I learned you can run, just not hide.)

Alas, our first stab at Cingular retail service was a bust. The tiny storefront carried the Cingular logo, but no real link to the Cingular corporate database. When we told the clerk (no, he's a sales representative) we were former ATT customers, he rolled his eyes just a bit. "I can't look you up," he said after a minute of tentative tapping on his keyboard. "If I put your number in, it will put my computer into an endless loop, because it's an ATT number."

Who knew wireless communications could wield such power?

We needed a better store. He pointed us "just across the highway" -- an extra 10-minute drive -- to another Cingular retail outlet. Three traffic lights later we walked into a much bigger store that used to be an ATT Wireless outlet. It too had been assimilated, but it retained a computer system that wouldn't fall into the Empire's Death Loop when the sales rep entered our numbers.

We're close to finished, I thought. We just have to wait for our name to be called after we sign in, find a phone Abby likes, get activated and pay up. At least that's the way ATT did it for me 18 months ago.

Oops, too simple. Seems our phone plan would not allow the computer to just sell Abby a more modern phone. No, we were on a plan for older technology — yeah, even me, who used a phone just a year-and-a-half old — so there was no way they'd just add one newer device to our service. My Nokia 3560, which I'd carried on about 5,000 miles of bike riding, would have to go, too.

I made a face that anybody could read as upset. But our rep Sally — just the luck of the draw, with three others working that day — was dilligent, persistent, and patient with my apparent frustration. She could set us up with a new plan. I wanted to resist this option, and so she moved to helping us with our immediate problem: replacing a bad battery. She went to the recycle box in the back and produced a Nokia battery for Abby's old phone, and even gave us an address of a battery replacement shop in Central Austin.

This was service. We were Cingular customers, after all, and she wanted us to leave satisfied. I asked if she could look up the end-date of our contract, to see how long I had to remain a Cingular customer. The service was good, but the options seemed designed to get us into a new contract. There are a lot fewer places to buy cell service from today, but there are options.

"March 2005," she said.

"So I'm not bound to Cingular by a contract now."

"Yes, you can shop around." Sally delivered this line as unfazed as anybody who's been told "I don't have to stick with your company." Sure, you can date around. We were still potential customers.

I had an epiphany. We didn't come to her shop to become nomads, searching for a better provider. We wanted a new phone and as few changes as possible. "Let me guess," I offered. "I bet we could both get new phones and better service for less money."

I had said the magic words. All we had to do was agree to a new contract. "Darling, we're engaged!" Sally was so enthusiastic she sold us a better rate a full day before it became official. She's activating the new phones for us today. Even trying to pick out a new number for Abby that ends in -YOGA.

Because in the cell phone world of 2005, it's all about the relationship. The phone is the least important part of the formula. That's why it's easy to get a free phone, if you sign up for service. Or a cheap phone with fun features, like a camera.

Which was another surprise on the afternoon. I just wanted a similar phone. Abby went way past the simple Nokia and into picture phone territory. "I can send you pictures of Lilias this summer when I'm at Feathered Pipe Ranch," she said. "This will be fun. And I have to get into this stuff more easily." As for me, I can talk on my new phone without an earpiece, hands-free. Good for those hour-long calls to mom, who's retired and still loves to talk. (No, it's not about calling while driving the car. Bad form. Hang up and drive.)

We all learned something yesterday. The new two-year contract we signed gave us 50 more minutes a month, nationwide service for no extra charge, and a bonus of two phones for about $60. We could have had two phones for $36 if we'd wanted to go real lowball. We were prepared to spend twice as much for just one phone.

What they want to sell you is the relationship, not that little device that you bond with because you carry it around with you all the time. But I feel like flashing my tiny Nokia 3120 like an engagement ring. "Cingular must love me — they gave me this for free!"