Not when I left my brand new iPhone in a taxi in Honolulu during my brief but costly layover (and I'm talking about the cab fare, not the phone) and was told by every single person I encountered in my quest to get it back that I should give it up because nobody around there would turn it in. As I have already learned, folks in Japan don't steal. (And I guess I would have had to stay in Japan to reap the rewards of returning that friggin little extra stuffed toy that could have been mine, all mine.)
No, I felt as if I was back in Japan when I was on the phone with someone at the telephone insurance help line (after failing miserably at getting "quick" results on the claims web site) and she told me, without a hint of irony in her voice, that I needed my pass code to "get in" and unless I could tell her my pass code (which, obviously, I couldn't -- hence the phone call) she could not retrieve it for me. "I'm sorry ma'am, that's the RULE." Can you say "catch 22" in Japanese?
Giving credit where credit is due, I have to say the woman kind of sensed the senselessness of what she was saying and was frantically flipping through what must have been a code thick enough to make an IRS rule drafter proud looking for options. "I know," she said. "I can text the pass code to your cell phone." I was silent. She remembered fairly quickly that she was helping me process a claim for a lost cell phone, was probably even in a cubicle in a big room entitled "Lost Cell Phone Division." "Oh, I guess that wouldn't work." Overqualified, obviously.
"Can you email it to me?" I'm not an expert, but I thought since I hadn't left either my desktop or my laptop in the taxi, that could be an option.
"Oh yes. That's a good idea."
"Great." I was feeling overly optimistic. "Will you be sending it to my comcast or my gmail account?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Huh?"
"I am not allowed to reveal your email address. That would be a breach of security."
"If I tell you an email address, will you be able to confirm -- just yes or no -- whether it kind of looks exactly like the one you have in your file?"
"No. I can't do that." After a brief pause, I'm pretty sure I heard her mutter I'm sorry. The poor woman. I wondered if she had been on the job long, if this was the first time she realized the rules were a little bit off the fucking wall. I decided to be nice and play along, and I sat staring at both my computer screens waiting for the magical pass code to appear on at least one of them. We waited together, in companionable silence.
Just to make conversation while I waited for what appeared to be the e-pony express to deliver my code, I confirmed that this pass code was all I would need to get back on line and get my claim processed so my replacement phone could be sent out.
"Oh no. I am not sending you your pass code. By the way, is it comcast dot com or comcast dot net?"
Ah ha! Comcast. At least I could just watch one screen. "Well what are you sending me then?" Maybe it was jet lag, but I was getting really confused.
"I'm sending you a four digit number. When it arrives, if you read it to me and it's the correct number, then I'm pretty sure I can give you your pass code."
Well, the change to "dot net" sped up the cyber pony, and I know my numbers pretty well, so I got the answer right and she gave me my pass code (which, mysteriously, was exactly the same as the one I had been punching in, but that's neither here nor there). I was excited. Maybe the whole problem was just a typo on my part. "So all I need to do is enter that pass code and I'll be set?"
"No. First you need you password. The sad thing is I know the difference between my password and my pass code, but it didn't really matter, because while she was explaining this to me my pass code actually worked and got me through to what I thought would be the final "submit" button. There was something to submit, for sure, but it wasn't my claim or even my two hundred dollars. The screen was very apologetic to me, but it needed more information. Meanwhile, the nice lady on the phone was refusing to hang up; instead, she was trying to sell me some stuff, like roadside assistance for my phone. I told her I would consider it at a later date if I ever actually got another phone, and we managed to end our conversation with our friendship still in tact.
As far as the additional information the screen needs from me goes, well I just decided at that point I didn't feel like talking to anybody anyway, so who needs a phone, and I abandoned the whole thing to go take a nap. But it's a new day, and I realize my phone is not only the keeper of all phone numbers and appointments and even email addresses but is also my camera, so I'm preparing to finish up the very official affidavit and fax it to the folks in the affidavit division in hopes my claim will be approved. I'm not sure if I have to send them my first born child or, worse still, tell them what I weigh (I didn't read it that closely) but I do know I have to get the thing notarized so if anyone reading this is a notary and lives in my time zone please let me know.
Being home is exhausting. But at least I can jaywalk.
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