Dead Zones and Dead Phones

 

Here in our place in Florida, we live in a bunker. Our walls are cinderblock, surrounded by our neighbors in the building whose walls are also – you guessed it – more cinderblock.

          We’ve grown used to dashing to the porch or the nearest open window when our phones ring. If we’re going to make an outgoing call, we plan ahead, camping out in the dining area with the slider door open. Or while we were slogging through the gazillion calls necessary to sort out banks and credit card companies when our account was hacked, huddled next to the window in the den (where the computer is) with the phone strategically balanced on a trash can. Okay, so we may have been broadcasting our financial information to the parking lot, but it was either that or carrier pigeon.

          Except one day my phone was even less cooperative than before, cutting out as soon as a call came in and absolutely refusing to dial out. Until a half hour later when it would connect. And then later it wouldn’t. One moment I had a phone and the next I might as well have been dialing on a shoe.

          Down we went to the Verizon store. After digging in my heels for years, I now have a new phone, although the one I gave up, an iPhone 7, still felt new to me. Or maybe that was just the new case I received for my birthday.

          I’ve almost figured out how to operate this new toy, although I’m not happy that it’s heavier and physically bigger than my old one.

          And now that we’ve bought it, we’ve seen multiple comments online from people here complaining about their phone problems and the reason for them.

          Infrastructure! The epic, incredible, mind-boggling number of people who’ve moved to this area is so ginormous the cell towers can’t handle the load.