Listing Through Life

My phone was four years old and the battery no longer kept a charge for more than a couple hours. It was time to order a new phone. It came on a Saturday, and I spent a couple hours in the afternoon getting everything transferred and set up. All seemed to be going swimmingly.

But when I turned it on the following Saturday, it blinked and went dark. I tried to get it started again, but without success.

The FAQs on the Fruit web page explain how to do a forced start-up — push and release the up volume button, push and release the down volume button, then push and hold the on/off button. I tried. Did I hold the button down long enough? I tried again. Did I push and release quickly enough? I tried again. Nothing. The web page then told me to charge the phone for an hour. I plugged it in and went for a walk.

When I got back, I pushed and released the up volume button, pushed and released the down volume button, and pushed and held the on/off button. Nothing. If it can be said than an inanimate object can feel dead, my phone felt dead.

So I called Fruit service on my wife’s phone. I connected with an automatic voice that said it could understand complete sentences. I explained that my phone had crashed and I couldn’t get it started. The voice asked if it could send me a text message that told me how to push and release the up volume button, push and release the down volume button, then push and hold the on/off button. I said no, I couldn’t get text messages because I don’t have a working phone. It then said that it would connect me with a real person, but first, could they text me a survey about how my experience with service went? I said no, because I don’t have a working phone.

They then connected me with some genius in the service department. He asked how he could help me. I said, “When I turned my new phone on this morning, it crashed. I tried to do a forced restart and tried to charge it, but it’s still dead. He hung up on me. I tried again, and got hung up on again. Again. Again.

So I tried to contact somebody through chat. This put me in contact with a genius who started the conversation by telling me that he hoped I was doing well. I told him that my new phone had crashed, that I had attempted to do a forced restart and to charge it, but it was still dead.

He said, “Thank you for letting me know your concern.” Because I was doing this for him …

He then said that he would “look into this and provide you with the necessary information to sort this out for you.” He began by asking me if he could ask me questions. I said sure.

He asked if the phone turned on after I charged it. I said no.

He then told me to push and release the up volume button, push and release the down volume button, then push and hold the on/off button. Just to make him happy, I tried again. Nothing.

He thanked me for trying and said he appreciated my efforts. Then he hung up on me.

I tried again. I worked my way to the point where the voice asked if it could text me a survey. I said, “sure.”

A few minutes later, I received a survey (on the chat screen, not by text — we’re talking multiple surveys here) asking me to evaluate my experience on the chat line.

Obviously, I wasn’t going to get anywhere talking to the Fruit people. I looked for the closest authorized Fruit service and made an appointment at a Best Buy in town for early that afternoon.

I was met by two young men who took my phone and pushed and released the up volume button, pushed and released the down volume button, then pushed and held the on/off button. When that didn’t work, they tried to give it a charge. When that didn’t work, they pulled out some special charger and tried again. Nothing.

They said that I’d have to take it to the Fruit store. The closest one was in Little Rock, about 45 minutes away. I asked for directions — because I didn’t have a working phone. They gave me an address. I asked if I could see an actual map — because I didn’t have a working phone. One of them pulled the directions up on his phone, and I wrote down the route.

I drove immediately to the Fruit store. A cheerful young man met me at the door and asked how he could help me. I told him my phone had crashed. He took it and pushed and released the up volume button, pushed and released the down volume button, then pushed and held the on/off button. When that didn’t work, he tried to charge it. Nothing. He told me to find a seat and a technician would find me “by your clothes.”

I found a seat and tried to sit in a way that would make what I was wearing obvious. It must have worked because, 20 minutes later, an earnest young man walked over and said hello.

I told him all that had happened and gave him my phone. He pushed and released the up volume button, pushed and released the down volume button, then pushed and held the on/off button. When that didn’t work, he tried giving it a charge. Nothing.

He then hooked it up to a computer that ran diagnoses. According to him, it took a long time to get any information, and even then the information wasn’t complete. He suspected that not only had the phone crashed, but the port was bad. He then had me sign into my account on his computer. I didn’t remember my password, but I said I could call my wife at home and get it — except that I didn’t have a working phone. He went in the back and got one. Since the call wasn’t from a recognized number, I suspected my wife wouldn’t answer, but she did. She was surprised to hear that I was in Little Rock.

By this time, I was expecting a new phone. But no. The technician informed me that I would be given a loaner while mine was sent in for repair. He said it would take 3-5 days. I even requested a new phone and asked why I couldn’t have one. He said he had no choice in the matter. He had to do what the system told him to do.

A young woman came out of the back and handed me a pink phone. The guy explained that I could transfer my data to it from my computer and get a sim card from my cell provider — which happened to have a store on the other side of the parking lot. I had to sign an agreement that I’d pay for the loss or damage of the loaner phone.

I walked over and talked to a representative at the cell provider. He called up my account and asked me for my PIN. I didn’t know my PIN. I didn’t know I had a PIN. There wasn’t any way he could give me phone service without my PIN. I supposed I could have borrowed another phone and called my wife, but by this time I was just fed up. I figured I’d gone the first 40 years of my life without a phone in my pocket, I could make it home.

I drove home. On the way, I stopped to pick up a couple rocks from a stretch of woods. I’m collecting them for a landscape project at home. In the 20 years or so that I’ve carried a phone, I don’t recall ever having one fall out of my pocket. Of course, the loaner phone fell out of my pocket and hit one of the rocks, chipping the case a little bit.

When I got home, I asked my wife for the cell service PIN. She didn’t know it. She didn’t know there was a PIN. She looked in our files and couldn’t find anything about a PIN. I was thoroughly fed up by this time and decided to live without a phone. On my old phone, the one with the dying battery, I could still connect to Wi-Fi. (On one occasion during the week, when my wife and I needed to be in communication, I pulled into a library, got on the Wi-Fi, and chatted back and forth with her by email.)

The technician at the Fruit store said 3-5 days, so I waited four. I had been told that I’d be texted when my phone was ready, but since I don’t have cell service, I couldn’t get texts.  I decided to call the store.

I got an automated voice that asked if it could help me and wondered if it could send me a survey. I told it to knock itself out. It finally figured out that it couldn’t help me and connected me with another genius. I explained to this woman that I was trying to contact the Fruit store at the Promenade in Little Rock to find out if my phone had been repaired. She asked me for my account number, my repair number, and several other things, then told me that she couldn’t access the information, but she could connect me with the store. I endured several minutes of discordant jazz music before a guy answered the phone.

He was polite, friendly, and genuinely interested in helping me. But he couldn’t find my information anywhere. He couldn’t find it by my name, by my Fruit i.d., or by my repair number. But he assured me that he’d figure it out. He put  me on hold — this time with pop music.

When he got back on, he asked if I lived in Arkansas. I thought this was a weird question, since the store was in Little Rock. But no, the genius at Fruit service had connected me with the Fruit store at the Promenade — in Colorado Springs.

That was a bit odd. I was connected with the wrong store because it had the same name as the one in Little Rock. But it just so happens that it was two miles down the road from my old house. In fact, the I’d purchased the phone I had just replaced at that very store.

The guy said he would try to connect me to the store in Little Rock, but he apologized up front and said that he had no control over these things, and that I might have to go back through the whole process again. He put me on hold.

Sure enough, I was back at the beginning. The automated voice asked how it could help me and asked if it could send me a survey. I said please, one can’t get too many surveys. I explained that I was trying to contact the store in Little Rock. It hung up on me.

And sent me a survey.

At this point, I noticed that the small print on the repair order said that my phone would probably be ready in seven days, not the 3-5 the technician had told me. I decided to quit talking to people and just drive to the store next Saturday.

But later that day I got an email from Fruit saying that my phone had just arrived at the service center. If it takes four days to get to the service center, it’s going to be tough to get it back to me in three days.

The email said the technicians there were “looking at your phone.” I got a picture in my head of nine guys sitting around a table staring at my dead phone. Perhaps one of them tried to push and release the up volume button, push and release the down volume button, then push and hold the on/off button. Then they probably tried to charge it. I was given a link to a site where I could track the progress of my phone. For the next 24 hours, it kept saying that they were looking at my phone. Seems like a boring job.

Anyway, today the message changed. The phone is dead and they’re sending me a replacement. And probably a survey.

No word on when I’ll get it.

Update: I have a phone again. It took 7 days, not 3-5. And it’s not a new phone. It’s a refurbished phone. My warranty is still good — minus the 7 days I had my old phone and the 7 days I didn’t have any phone.

I went to the cell store and told the young man I needed service on my new phone. He asked for my PIN. When I said I didn’t know it, he said he could call my wife’s number, and she could give me access to the account. So he did, and she did, and I had service. Why the other genius — who was sitting at the next desk — didn’t think of this the week before, I don’t know. I could have had service on my old phone all week.

How can I complain about all this? If only there was a survey I could fill out …

On Sunday afternoon, two birding friends found Red Crossbills in a pine plantation in White County, Arkansas. This was news. Crossbills are rare in Arkansas, and can be difficult to find even where they aren’t rare. I’ve seen them once in Illinois, once in Wisconsin, and several times in Colorado, but in a lifetime of birding, thirteen sightings isn’t many.

Time out for a bit of background. Red Crossbill is a species (or multiple species — some experts think there may be as many six to ten”types” that should be classified separately) that are uniquely designed to feed on pine cones. The upper and lower mandibles of their bills don’t meet, but instead cross over each other — enabling them to pry cones apart. Here’s a photo of one I took in Colorado to give you the idea.

Because they’re so specifically designed to eat one food, they migrate, not by season, but by availability of pine cones. They can be very common in an area one year and completely absent the next. And occasionally, when there are fewer pine cones than normal in their usual range, the crossbills show up much father south where the cones are plentiful. These movements are called irruptions, and they might happen every three to ten years. Northern Arkansas is pretty close to the southern limit of their wanderings and even in irruption years, only a few are found in the state.

This winter there have been a handful reported around the state. I’ve spent two entire days and parts of a few others walking through pine forests listening for either their harsh call notes or the quiet cracking of pine cones. I really wanted to find some on my own, but I didn’t.

When the report came through on Sunday that a pair were seen in White County, it was too late to make the trip. Besides, I figured they were a “one and done” sighting. So Monday, instead of heading northeast, I headed west. I was two hours from White County at 2:30 in the afternoon — actually walking through a pine woods listening for crossbills —  when my friends reported that they’d seen them again in the same spot. I was tempted, but I’d already been out all day and another three-and-a-half hours of driving wasn’t attractive.

But I’m at 298 for my state list (my goal is to get to 300 by the end of the year), and I might not have another chance at Red Crossbills. I headed out on Tuesday morning. The pine plantation where they’ve been seen spreads along a gravel road a few miles east of the town of Bald Knob. I was the only one there when I arrived. The trees are clearly marked with purple paint — the same as a no trespassing sign in Arkansas — so I walked back and forth on the road. After 15 minutes or so, a birder named Dawn, whom I’ve met before, drove up with her two-year-old son. The three of us walked back and forth, chatting and naming the birds we heard. After an hour, I decided to head to the nearby national wildlife refuge for a while, then come back later in the day. Dawn and her son drove further along the road, listening as they went.

I jumped in my car and cut over onto the roadside grass to make a three-point turn. My right front tire suddenly dropped and my car stopped moving forward. I tried to back up, but got nowhere. I attempted to rock my way out, but the car wasn’t budging. I got out to look, and found this.

The ground was saturated, and the only thing keeping me from sinking deeper was that the bottom of my car was resting on the road. I dumped a bunch of gravel in front of and behind my tire for traction, but it didn’t help a bit.

Of course, while I was doing this — and while my binoculars and camera were inside the car — the crossbills flew through the trees, calling. I never saw them, but I knew what they were. I pulled out my phone and recorded them on my birding app. But I had other things on my mind.

Dawn had turned around and was headed back toward me. I asked her if she’d mind getting behind the wheel while I pushed. She was happy to do it, but the car wouldn’t budge. She grabbed a floor mat from her car and tried to put that under my tire, and she even got down on her knees to dig under the wheel with a stick. Nothing helped. I thanked her, and she went on her way, but not before volunteering to come back and get me if I was stuck there for long.

I called a local towing service and explained my predicament. The guy asked if I was on the right or left side of Taylor Road. I explained to him that I was the only car on the entire length of Taylor Road.

About 15 minutes later, he showed up with another guy. Neither of them were at all friendly, or even nice. They hooked up my car and tried to drag it onto the road at an angle. The car moved, but the right front tire wouldn’t come up out of the ditch. The tow truck was actually being dragged down the road until the second guy climbed into the cab and stepped on the brake. Finally the car came out. The guy reluctantly agreed to take a credit card — and when I saw how complicated it was for him, I understood his reluctance. But I didn’t really have an option. I don’t carry $124 in cash around with me.

Yes. $124 for the half hour it takes to tow a car up out of a ditch — and that includes driving to and from the spot. And about 10 minutes of that time was spent paying by credit card. It seemed ridiculously expensive, but at that point, what choice did I have? Apart from asking me the info he needed for payment, I don’t think the two of them said three words to me.

I headed up the road, still planning on birding nearby and coming back. But as soon as I hit the pavement and accelerated, I knew I had another problem. My car had a decided shimmy which got really bad above 40 mph. I figured the way the tow guy had dragged it out of the ditch had messed up the alignment.

Frustrated, I headed back to Conway. It was 70 miles, and I took back roads, never going above 40 mph. My mechanic was happy to take the car but informed me they wouldn’t get to it until Wednesday. My wife picked me up. I spent the rest of the day trying to decide if I would add the crossbills to my Arkansas list based on sound alone.

My car was in the shop all day on Wednesday. In fact, a guy had to stay late to finish it and to be there when I came to pick it up much too late to head back to White County. It cost $97 for a front-end alignment. As I was paying, the guy told me that, even after the alignment, it shimmied. They jacked it up and found tons of mud caked on the tire. They hosed the mud off, and the shimmy was gone. Which makes me wonder if I needed an alignment at all. But I didn’t wonder long because that would be depressing.

The rest of the story.

Storms were predicted on Thursday, but when I got up in the morning and saw that they had been rescheduled for mid-afternoon, I headed back to White County. I parked very close to where I’d parked two days earlier — only much further out onto the road. After an hour of walking up and down, I saw two birds fly into the hickory tree (the one right behind my car in the tow truck photo) and had my crossbills. The male perched quietly while the female gathered some bits of bark. They both then flew off into the pines, never making a sound. It appears that they may be nest building, which has never been positively confirmed to have happened in Arkansas before. I’m glad I saw them, especially after spending $220 plus gas and driving a total of 280 miles.

My wife and I went out for lunch today, as we often do. Our destination was Smokin’ Buns BBQ in Jacksonville, Arkansas — forty-five minutes east of our house. It happened to be Valentine’s Day, but that wasn’t the reason for our excursion. (We have plans for the weekend.) But still, we knew what day it was and we were together. My wife dressed courageously in white and pink — daring the BBQ sauce to do it’s worst. I, in honor of the day, put on my church jeans and a nice(r) shirt.

We were settled in the restaurant, waiting for our food when my phone buzzed with a message from a birding friend. “There’s an Iceland Gull on the lock wall at Dardanelle Dam.” Figures. I was planning on heading to the dam tomorrow to look for gulls.

Iceland Gull is a rare bird in Arkansas. Only ten or twelve have ever been found in the state. It wouldn’t be a lifer for me — I’ve seen them three times before — but it would be my first in a long time and I’ve never gotten a photograph. In addition, it would be my 297th species in Arkansas, and I’ve made it one of my goals for 2024 to get to 300 in the state.

But I was out to lunch with my wife on Valentine’s Day, and an hour-and-a-half away from the bird, which was 45 minutes west of our house. I didn’t even mention the bird to my wife and settled in for a nice meal and pleasant conversation.

Eight minutes after the first message, two more came through from fellow birders informing the group that they were on the way.

Six minutes later, more detailed information came through about where, exactly the gull was at the moment and exactly where I should go to see it.

I turned off my phone.

We finished our meal — the ribs were a little dry, but the brisket was delicious, as was my wife’s pulled pork. And we loved the sauce — the “original” flavor.

The meal wasn’t the only thing we’d planned. We drove through traffic and construction zones through downtown Little Rock to visit a store we both like. We leisurely shopped, discussed our options, talked with the salesman, and picked what we wanted. I still hadn’t mentioned the bird. It was Valentine’s Day, after all.

The third stop we’d planned was at an antique store between Little Rock and home. As we got into the car, I casually asked my wife if she still wanted to go. She said, “There isn’t anything I’m really looking for right now. I can go or not go. It doesn’t matter to me.” And I could tell by the tone of her voice that she meant exactly that.

So I said, “Well … There’s an Iceland Gull in Dardanelle. If you want to go antiquing, that’s what we’ll do. But if you don’t, then I’m going to drop you at home and head there.”

It’s at times like this that I’m reminded once again that I married the right woman. She said, “That’s fine. Let’s head home.” I turned my phone back on and, while I drove, dictated a message for her to send to the bird group (in my name), asking if the bird was still there.

There’s a certain amount of competition between birders, but we work hard to see that everyone sees the bird. I immediately got two messages and a phone call saying that the Iceland Gull was on the lock wall, sleeping.

And then came the suspense. Every birder has chased a rare bird only to have it take off minutes before he gets there. I obeyed the traffic laws (in spirit anyway), avoided running anyone off the road, and ignored the fact that I was low on gas.

I pulled up to the dam at 3:35 and saw four of my birding friends looking through their spotting scopes, always a good sign. I jumped out of my car and asked for a quick look through one of their scopes. (It isn’t beyond the bounds of possibility for a bird to take off and disappear at the very last moment.) I saw the Iceland Gull and identified it to my satisfaction, and then went back to my car and got my own scope and camera.

The Iceland Gull is the one on the right with it’s wings spread. Most gulls, like the Ring-billed Gulls in the background and the Herring Gull on the left, have black on the wing-tips. The Iceland does not. This particular bird is in its first-year plumage.

This is one of the reasons why birding is such a fun hobby. February birding can be dull. The winter birds have been around for several months, and spring migration hasn’t started yet. Yet suddenly somebody finds something good, and I’m off on an adventure.

And, to make it all even better, it was a sunny day with shirt-sleeve temperatures. I had a wonderful time with my wife, a delicious meal, a rare bird, and an hour’s enjoyable conversation with friends. Two guys who worked on the lock came by to see what we were looking at. They stuck around and regaled us with stories about floods, inept towboat captains, and Arkansas River navigation history.

The gull was still there when I left just before sundown. I remembered to stop for gas at the first station I passed. I drove home content, walked in and hugged my wife, and watched as she demonstrated the new waffle-maker she bought with her Christmas money.

So on top of everything else, I soon get waffles!

I got that going for me, which is nice.