“Hold Some More Please”

Amiga walked across the tiled floor of her dorm room in Philadelphia on Temple University’s main campus holding her cell phone in one hand and her credit card bill in the other hand.  She wore green high heels that matched the color of her skirt.  Her light red hair with streaks of brown was tied behind her neck in a small bun.  At her desk, her light blue eyes scanned her credit card bill in search of the number for the credit card company’s customer service office.  Once she found the desired number, she dialed it hoping she could learn if her new credit card that came on Tuesday was now active.  Her phone beeped with each number her slender fingers hit.  She raised her phone to her ear as it rang.   Soon she heard the loud drawn out buzz of a busy signal.  “I’m sorry.”  The machine voice said.  “The number you are trying to reach is not in service.  Please hang up and dial again. “ Amiga walked across the tiled floor of her dorm room in Philadelphia on Temple University’s main campus holding her cell phone in one hand and her credit card bill in the other hand.  She wore green high heels that matched the color of her skirt.  Her light red hair with streaks of brown was tied behind her neck in a small bun.   At her desk, her light blue eyes scanned her credit card bill in search of the number for the credit card company’s customer service office.  Once she found the desired number, she dialed it hoping she could learn if her new credit card that came on Tuesday was now active.  Her phone beeped with each number her slender fingers hit.  She raised her phone to her ear as it rang.   Soon she heard the loud drawn out buzz of a busy signal.  “I’m sorry.”  The machine voice said.  “The number you are trying to reach is not in service.  Please hang up and dial again.”

Amiga ran a polished fingernail down along the bill that she placed next to her laptop.  It stopped next to the number for her credit card company.  She read out the digits in the number as she tried to dial her credit card company again.  This time the call went through.  “Thank you for calling credit card counseling services,”  began the pre recorded message of what might be said by an actual customer service representative if a person was answering rather than an automatic response in its typical voice that was annoying in being monotone as it repeated a previously programmed response.  “To locate the nearest credit card counseling service near you please enter your nine digit area code now.  To repeat this message press 1.  For more options press 2.  Or hand up and dial again.”  It began repeating its message after she failed to select an option.  “Thank you for calling credit card counseling services.  To locate……..”

She terminated the call not allowing the machine voice that was making its routine greeting to finish.  “This can’t be right”, she muttered.  Amiga dialed the number again in hopes the lines crossed when she first called.  “Thank you for calling credit card counseling services.”  Said the voice on the other end of the phone, which directed the incoming calls for the company.  It should have connected Amiga to the customer service directory so she could check whether her credit card was now active.   She leaned over her desk placing the cell phone on the desk next to her laptop as the voice continued.   One finger went to the phone number listed on the credit card bill intent on comparing it to the number displayed on her phone.  To her dismay, she dialed the correct number, but it was the number for credit card counseling services not the number for customer service, which is who she needed to contact.

She looked at the clock on her radio alarm clock.  “2:30”, she muttered.  “Great. I’ve wasted over an hour trying to call customer service all so I can find out if that new credit card of mine that came in the mail on Tuesday is active now that I signed it.”

She threw her credit card bill on to her bed.  “And I don’t have time to waste trying to call them again since I have my weekly late night class down at the Center City Campus in a few hours.”  Amiga looked out her window.  “But, I have that date tomorrow night and I can’t buy a dress to wear on it if my credit card isn’t working.” She paced around her dorm room on her high heels.  “I’ll pack up everything I need for class at the Center City campus tonight along with some stuff to work on papers and I’ll go down to the Gallery at Market East.  They have plenty of clothing stores there and there are sever more a few blocks down from it on South Street.  I’ll use my credit card to buy a cheap dress.  If it isn’t working, I can instead use my debit card to withdraw money from an ATM to buy a dress.   Once I’m done shopping I can set up at a table in one of the coffee shops down near City Hall to work or I can just go and work in one of the coffee shops in the Underground Concourse of Suburban Station.”

Amiga spent five minutes grabbing books, notebooks, the large flat anthology book that was the main text book for tonight’s Modern British Poetry class and several lined legal pads for researching and editing papers for class tossing them in her large red bag.   She reached to the pair of shelves above her desk where she kept her keys and wallet when she was inside her dorm room instead of attending class or rambling around the campus or the streets of Philadelphia.   They were stashed in an interior side pocket.   Her cell phone and its charger went into one of the pockets along the inner lining of her purse.  Rather than leave her credit card bill out in plain sight or take it with her and risk it being stolen a few seconds where devoted to hiding it in a desk draw under a large pile of stuff.   Amiga checked her pockets and her bag ensuring she possessed all she needed for her expedition down to Center City.  Pulling her windbreaker over her arms, she locked the door behind her before departing on a clothes-shopping trip that she hoped would be short.

 


Daniel DiQuinzio is currently a student at Seton Hall University where he is studying his Master’s thesis in History and Military. A graduate of Temple University, he is also a poet and fiction writer whose work has appeared in various publications including Spotlight on Recovery, Parle Magazine, Tymes and Sisyphus Quarterly, The Minority Report, Bull Magazine, and The Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine.

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