My husband and I assembled for our recent, weekday morning appointment. I had confirmed his attendance the night before with a murmured, late-night reminder. We drove in separate cars for logistical flexibility. At least I told myself that was why. The truth is that he was taking a leisurely shower at the time I felt we should leave the house, and I did not want to be late. As it turned out, I was twenty minutes early, and he was right on time, a symbolic reminder to me that my high-strung, anxious approach to meetings does not give me an edge.
I am slightly irritated with Don for a reason that in the scheme of things should not give me pause. I console myself that we are far more alike than we are different, and that his life choices are those that he is free to make as an adult. We had had a recent misunderstanding; I was surprised when I learned about it, because I thought we were on the same page. We even briefly raised the subject with one of our sons, until I realized that we might need professional help.
At 8:00, the doors opened, and we were ushered in. I was disappointed that the woman who greeted us was a millennial, as I did not feel confident that she had the experience to help us navigate our path forward. I was not heartened by her initial greetings; she seemed diffident to our dilemma, almost bored. But then again, perhaps she was tired and didn’t really care about the problem that I sought her counsel on.
Our issue has not really created matrimonial discord. It is more like a marital misunderstanding. Don and I are not dissimilar in political or world viewpoints. We are aligned in the most fundamental way when it comes to how we spend our time or our money and the level of effort we expend on our home and each other. But when it comes to cell phone technology, we have the 2020’s equivalent of a mixed marriage.
I am on Team iPhone, and he is on some other team. I do not even know what product or model it is. For several years, he had been complaining about his phone – about not receiving text messages promptly, having trouble accessing and forwarding photos, and the like. I thought that meant he was tired of his Team Other device, so I assumed he was going to ditch it. I had been promising myself a new iPhone for years, and the ribbing of family millennials finally got to me. So, this year, Don and I covenanted to buy new phones as our Christmas presents.
I stopped by a local Verizon store a week before Christmas and found that they would open on Christmas Eve morning at 8:00. This was perfect, since Don and I would be off work. I mentioned to Don a couple of days beforehand that we could get there early and be done with it in a jiffy. We could even get coffee beforehand and call it is a middle-aged, long-term- marriage kind of date. Don agreed enthusiastically – at least what passes for enthusiasm from my low-key, engineer husband.
Several days before our appointment, I asked Don how he felt about switching to an iPhone, and he gave me a blank stare as though I had mentioned, in passing, that I was divorcing him and moving to a secluded area in the Andes to raise alpacas. He said that he was upgrading his phone, not switching product manufacturers. I reminded him of his frustration with the technology of his phone, and he said he felt those were just due to its age. He muttered something about not liking Apple’s polished, proprietary marketing culture. I felt a bit peeved that my husband was exercising free will.
But the smartphone salesperson nodded agreeably when we told her that we wanted dissimilar products, as though it was a commonplace request. She didn’t blink, nor did she think us odd. It was as though she was a restaurant server and we had simply ordered different entrees. My iPhone13 Pro order was placed with dispatch. I left the store soon after, leaving Don to buy his Team Other device, which, due its apparent unpopularity, they had in stock.
Two and ½ hours later, Don called me from Data Transfer Hell, a little-known territory within Verizon. He was 87% done with the process. I commiserated with him in a superficial display of sympathy.
If, on the other hand, he had been transferring data to an iPhone 13, I probably would have driven back to Verizon with a bottle of water and a mid-morning snack and cheerily told him how much he was going to love his new phone.