Just about every two years, I get a new phone. That is the ticking time bomb that is an iPhone. The adoption always occurs around Christmas because phones happen to be a common gift from my parents to me.
Two years ago, I got an iPhone 6S. I remembered my saleswoman, “Heather.” Okay, I didn’t remember her actual name, but I remembered her face. She had been this cute, sunshiny personality with just the right amount of sass mixed with professionalism. I remember thinking I liked her, but also being like I can’t ask for her number because I dislike putting customer service representatives in that position. Also, my mom was standing there. Also, she dropped she had a boyfriend in the last two minutes of the conversation.
Fast forward to this year. I wanted an iPhone X. I walked into the Verizon store and asked to look into my upgrade options. I got paired with Heather.
I didn’t immediately recognize, or remember, that I knew Heather, but soon her voice, mannerisms, and sunshine brought back our first encounter.
“Hey, I think you helped me last time,” I said.
“Oh, I remember you! Yeah, I did! You were with your mom.”
Yes. Yes, I was.
“How is everything?” I said. Life conversation began to slip into the sale. She disclosed she was an undergraduate at Old Dominion studying psychology. Too young for me?
“What are you going to do with that?” I asked.
“I don’t know. What do you do? I sorta want to go to grad school, too.”
“I go to VCU and do statistics. I’m sure you know that from psych. You should come to VCU.”
“I should! I could come up to Richmond and hang out with you.”
Okay, Heather. I’m into it.
The conversation grew more flirtatious. At least I think it did. I signed on the dotted line for the iPhone X. She assured me it was worth the price. We discussed what sort of protection I should buy. For the phone that is. (I’m lol’ing at myself for writing that.)
The end of the sale was in sight. I decided to ask for her number. You sometimes gotta make the leap. I thought I was reading the signs correctly; I wasn’t going to make her feel awkward.
And then her supervisor popped up.
“How’s it going?” the supervisor said.
“It’s great! He’s about to buy an iPhone X,” Heather replied. “Sign here.”
“Yeah, I’m getting it shipped to my house,” I said, “because the color I want is not in yet.”
“Sorry about that,” the supervisor replied. “But I’m glad you got what you wanted.”
“So it should be at your house in four days,” Heather said.
“And if not?” I said.
“And can I get your number?” I said. “In case you move to Richmond. You know, for school.” I looked at the supervisor, still smiling. “We were talking about school…”
“Yeah,” Heather jumped in. “He does stats, which I need help with, and he’s a grad student so he might help me.”
“Oh, cool,” the supervisor said.
Me: Was that a real “oh, cool!” or an “mm, hmm…”?
“Let me write my—or do you just want to put it in your phone?” Heather said. She recited her numbers.
“What,” I realized, “is your name?”
Like I said, I remembered her…but I’m terrible at names and just remembered her. Not her name.
She laughed. “It’s Heather.” She held up her name tag. “Heather Walker.”
“And you already know my name is Cazey,” I said and indicated my open Verizon account on her computer. “And you have my number.”
She laughed. The sunshiniest laugh. “Just call me from your phone so I can save yours.”
“Perfect, I saved it,” she said. “Text me to hang out.”
“I’ll text you a picture when my phone arrives.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And to plan your move to Richmond,” I added.
“Sounds like an even better plan.”
I walked out of the Verizon store amazed that I had purchased both an iPhone X and that I had a date with my Verizon salesperson. Did I? Was that true? Yes, I think that was.
Back at my parents’ house, I Facebook stalked Heather Walker. And this is where the story hits a major bump and the title of this post becomes apt. Because Heather Walker did come up…but Heather Walker was really formerly Heather Walker. On Facebook, she was “Heather Walker Storm,” “Solutions Specialist at Verizon,” student at Old Dominion University, and, oh, “Married.”
What? Come again? Huh? What?
I clicked through photos.
Heather had married Mr. “Chris Storm, Jr.” in summer. At a museum where my best friend had gotten married. And he worked at the Agape Church. Where he was choir director. Chris and Heather had gone on a date just last Friday. They posted of themselves at the bar. And, aw, they were cute.
But, still, what.
Was Heather married? Was this the same Heather? But Heather was Heather Walker on her nametag? She hadn’t mentioned boyfriend, fiancé, husband? She had given me her number? Were we not flirting? Were we just hanging out as friends?
But…Richmond? No, I know I can be dense, and sometimes I miss flirting, but I think we were flirting.
Do I even text her? Is that paramount to adultery?
But is she really married?
My iPhone X arrived days later. I pondered for another day texting her. Then I finally did. I said, “Merry belated Christmas! My phone came. I’d love to hang out if you’re free before I go back to Richmond.”
Heather never replied. I wonder if her husband saw the text.
I searched her on Facebook today while writing this post. Her profile is much more private than it was weeks ago. There are no recent photos with Chris. Her Instagram seems to no longer have any photos of them.
Perhaps I’ll solve the mystery in two years when I get the iPhone XII.