(Before I start, I’d like to point out that my original title was “Fuck T-Mobile.” The internet is nothing if not extreme, and I struggle not to buy into it.)
If you want your worst moments held up for public scrutiny, become a celebrity or marry a writer. But I’m resisting the urge to get into the reasons why my wife and I no longer have an amicable separation. As satisfying as it would be to write my anger in fiery words for an imaginary internet audience of millions, it wouldn’t be fair to the person I’ve loved for sixteen years. Suffice to say it’s taken months, but we finally have acrimony. We are the stereotypical couple who can’t stand to be in the same room.
There are a dozen financial things to take care of, most of them relatively easy. One thing I’ve learned from anonymous customer service, saying your marriage is ending is a great way to get sympathy, and basically whatever you need.
Then, there’s T-Mobile. They are cell phone professionals and I’m not, so maybe I’m in no position to judge. I’m sure they have their reasons for forcing anyone with a joint account to share public space, to work together to dissolve the account and create two new ones. I don’t know, if it’s my business, I’d do whatever I could to double my money, getting paid from two people instead of a couple. But that’s me. Instead, T-Mobile tells me, “Hey? You know the person who when you think about her, a flower of emotional hurt blooms in your stomach? The one who bursts into tears when you look at her? The one who hurt you worse than you imagined possible, who you never want to see again? Well, bring her on by and we’ll see what we can do about getting you those separate accounts.”
Thankfully, we have no children. I have newfound respect for those parents who remain friends, or at least civil, because their children will always connect them. Right now, I really don’t feel like building character. I don’t feel like being nice, or civil. My emotional fabric is stretched tight, and I don’t need T-Mobile making it worse.