An Open Letter To Richard Branson and Virgin Mobile

An open letter to Virgin Mobile and Richard Branson: Today, after a decade I am breaking up with you. I am leaving you for a man by the name of Bruce Waterman. You can blame him for my betrayal. How do you leave someone after 10 years? It wasn’t easy. In 2002, I felt head over heels in love with you. It was shortly after 9/11 and the cell phone I had previously owned was a Motorola which had been purchased for me by the real estate management company who employed me. Forced to play the field, I refused to get locked into a contract and Virgin was making news with an affordable pre-paid cell phone and I started a passionate 10 year affair. There were bumps along the way. Reception was never good. Calls were dropped at all times. New lovers such as Mobile One, Verizon and Sprint to name just a few, flirted with me, but for some reason, I resisted. I was a Virgin. My first Virgin phone lasted almost 6 years. Oddly, it died as I spoke on the phone from the 9/11 construction site in New York City, my first trip back to my home city, in 27 years, as I celebrated my 40th high school reunion with the Class of 1968. A little bubble appeared on my screen and the phone crashed as I walked that revered site. It was emotional. 9/11 had claimed still another life. Devastated, I returned to San Diego, phone less. Without much in funds, Virgin came to the rescue again with their cheap crappy phones. Our tawdry relationship continued. I couldn’t get away from you and you seemed content with my meager monthly stipend. I even enjoyed halcyon months where I could afford your unlimited service and make all the phone calls nationwide that my heart desired. You had my heart by a string and I endured the dropped calls, poor reception and the fact that often I even failed to hear the phone ring. Other phones would sound like a fire alarm and your phone sounded like a whisper in the wind. Many people on the other end of the phone sounded like they were in a third world country with bombs exploding all around them. I couldn’t hear them and they couldn’t hear me. Still, I remained loyal. I knew no other phone. More phones followed at a rapid pace. In 2008, I upgraded to a somewhat expensive Virgin phone as you began to compete with a higher quality of phone. The sleek, black glass model I purchased was beautiful and I felt madly in love once again. Still, the phone continued to drop calls. Many times, I had to contact customer service and those calls were always an adventure. Some moron on tape names ALEX would answer the phone and pretend that he was a real person and ask stupid questions about why you were calling which never was the reason why I was calling. Finally, you had to trigger a volley of directed curses at Alex to get him to deliver a real person. Alex would say I DIDN’T GET THAT. TELL ME AGAIN WHY YOU ARE CALLING? Now, this was after a few exchanges and tempers, particularly mine, were getting short. So I would say, GET ME TO A LIVE OPERATOR YOU PICE OF ***, YOU FLAMING LOAD OF ***, YOU SORRY SACK OF ***. Alex would be relentless and respond I DIDN’T GET THAT, DO YOU WANT BE TO CONNECT YOU WITH A LIVE OPERATOR? And I would say, YES, YOU PIEVE OF HORSE****, YOU FLAMING ****, LIVE OPERATOR, LIVE OPERATOR, LIVE OPERATOR, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT YOU WASTE OF HUMAN TIME? And finally, I was transferred to a live voice which sounded like it may be from India or some foreign land that Richard Branson outsourced these calls to. Oh, how I dreaded these calls. Every few months, something would come up where I had to go through it once more. Through it all, I stayed with you. I was tempted to leave, but your $20-$40 monthly cost was addictive and I liked being less dependent on a phone. My son Scott was always into the latest technological breakthrough. I stayed in the days of the horse and carriage and even preferred it. My shiny black glass phone that my daughter, Lindsey, called MONEY, died from a battery coronary and I replaced it with a $12 special from K-Mart. I had hit rock bottom, but the phone was paper thin and I praised its assets. Then one day, Bruce Waterman came back into my life and the world would never be the same. I was taking my 5 mile hike and on the phone with Bruce who I had recently reconnected with after a several years hiatus. Bruce had learned I had written a play and we were discussing getting video of it which was an expertise of his. Bruce began pitching a cell phone business to me and I cut him off. I reminded him that thousands of network marketing companies pitch me their business and I have turned them all down. I am a writer, I protested to Bruce and he laughed. Maybe, that is why you have such a crappy phone. With that single disdainful remark, Bruce had hit me below the belt. He was right, of course, but why hadn’t others said something to me. All of those dropped calls, dead areas, garbled conversations, no one had ever called out my phone. It was as if Bruce was sharing with me that he had seen my phone sleeping with other phones and I was learning for the first time of her betrayal. Bruce suggested that I leave Virgin and come with him. Bruce was seducing me and I liked it. It was on that day, outside the famed San Diego Library in a city I have grown to love so much, that I made the decision to end our 10 year fling and go with Bruce and his Solavei team. I have been with Bruce for a bit now. He is a patient lover. I attract new blood to his team. We make for a great marriage. My phone reception has never been better. I have made a clean break from Virgin and I have no regrets. I even have a new phone number. I think you really suck as a service, Virgin. But how can I throw away 10 years. You will always be my first love. But we have grown apart, so I ask you to move on, as I have. Parting is such sweet sorrow. But the reception on this end has never been better.