Journal: October 18, 2002
October 18, 2002
I want to make mention of phone cards. If I find the right gas station, that carries the right phone card, I feel almost hystericaly happy. It has become an obsession. This idea that you are putting your faith in the fine print on the back of piece of thin plastic, hoping that 10 dollars will get you 15 hours of air time and not 48 minutes like that piece of shit card that the lady in Chicago sold you even though you asked her specificaly if she knew what kind of minutes you'd get calling Canada and she assured you CONFIDENTLY that the card you were interested in would be "fine to call Canada" and so then you bought it and instead of 15 hours for ten dollars you got a card for twenty dollars and ended up with 48 minutes of time and it enraged you and made you feel sad and helpless because when the lady came on and said "you have one minute remaining" all that filled your head was rage for that woman and her stupid phone card instead of the goodbye you should be saying and the panic of that sixty second goodbye left you with a knot in your stomach for the whole night and in the morning you ripped up the card and swore in the van about being ripped offand no one cared and you thought about what a loser you were for spending your whole day of perdium on a stupid phone card and then that made you think about your shopping addiction and then you added up all the items you had bought since you went on the road a month ago and you felt panic and terror about your VISA bill and you promise yourself that you will never buy anything ever again, including phone cards, except the next night you find yourself searching aimlessly through Minneapolis looking for a phone card except this time the helpful gas station clerk ASSURES you that this card, the CTA Africa card, is "great for calling canada", and so you believe her and you head back to the hotel to take your leap of faith....
Sara