This rant is not about AARP, who mailed me a membership brochure the other day, despite the fact that I am just barely creeping into my first decade as a working person. I am not a senior, and I suppose I can forgive an organization of codgers their occasional senior moment. This rant is actually for them, so I’ll speak no more of their fumbling ineptitude. Well, for now.
This rant is also not about how phone manufacturers have decided, against all engineering logic, that every telephone must have a camera installed in it. What could go wrong? Just add a small sensor array, some optics, and mix in some extra cruft in the software, right? It’s called feature creep for a reason, douchebags: it’s a bad idea, it makes the phones needlessly complex and expensive, and for the most part the cameras take shitty pictures that are of no real use! You assholes must be related to the people who decided that every car with a CD player ought to have $600 floor mats, on the off chance that I will be tramping $1,200 dirt into the car and I’d want to make sure I had something that really deserved it. As it turns out there is a large market of people who need mobile phones who not only do not want a camera, but who are forbidden by their office’s IT policy from bringing a camera into the building. Anyhow, fuck Verizon for thinking that wanting a phone without a camera must de facto make you a technophobe who needs a phone For Seniors. I’d TXT you to GTOF MY L0N but I’ve got better things to do.
This rant is not about all of that crap. It is about the Verizon Coupe, one of the aforementioned telephones marketed to one of the aforementioned seniors. It happens to not have a camera – one of only two such phones sold by Verizon – and when I was in the market recently I picked one up. It turns out that the Verizon Coupe might have been more accurately named the Doupe, or perhaps the Poupe.
I will now enumerate the various ways in which it is an utter failure.
The Coupe does not have a silent mode, because apparently America’s seniors are not capable of understanding things that happen if they are not accompanied by a beep. The best you can do is tell the Coupe to turn all sounds off, which it confirms with a beep. It confirms everything with a beep. It confirms that you have opened it with a beep. It confirms that you have looked at it with a beep. It confirms that you have selected Vibrate-Only mode with a beep. It confirms that you would like it to stop beeping… with a beep. I considered gouging out the speaker, but the Coupe is a marvel of modern engineering which uses the same speaker for the ringer, earpiece, and the dreaded beeps.
The Coupe has external “shoulder” buttons, like so many other phones, so that you can use your opposable thumbs to pretend you’re changing the settings. Unlike other phones, the Coupe’s shoulder buttons are active all the time, for your convenience. This means that if you put the phone in your pocket, set it down next to something and nudge it, hold it up in a strong breeze, or if a nearly-massless subatomic particle collides with it, the shoulder buttons cheerfully perform a random function: changing your volume settings, activating voice-dial, or switching from “Silent” mode to “Vibrate in user’s pocket randomly as though he had a call” mode.
The Coupe’s voice-dial feature is (by the way) more useless than a headless makeup model, and half as smart. “Call Erica” results in a string of beeps (natch!) and a voice asking me – is that you Doctor Hawking? – if I meant to say “Call America”. No thanks, Steve, I’m already in America. Shut the fuck up Steve, stop beeping. If I wanted to use voice-dial, I’d tell you out loud. If I want to press buttons instead, I’ll give you the finger. Fuck off Steve.
The only saving grace about the Coupe is its mercifully short battery life. A typical user gets about twelve hours of beeping out of the telephone – fewer if the phone is carried in a pocket, where it arbitrarily engages the vibration feature, beeps merrily through the volume settings, and listens carefully for the faintest whisper so that it can ask your pocket lint who it is trying to ring up.
So fuck Verizon for letting this abomination out of quality testing – if in fact, anyone at Verizon can even spell quality (“Did you mean to say fellate me?” “SHUT UP STEVE.”). Fuck them with a Chocolate Moto Razr 9905 Deluxe, with a pink shiny skin, a full keyboard, Puff Daddy ring tones, and Goatse wallpapers for foisting this phone off on seniors, who would presumably run screaming from the nightmarish robot voice, or shuffle off this mortal coil in frustration at its incredibly user-surly interface. Fuck them with the “can you hear me now” guy, wrapped head to toe in barbed wire, phone cords, and service contracts, for not even completing the job – why didn’t you assholes add a camera that makes everyone look like they’ve had hideous plastic surgery, and at least save me the trouble of thinking this was the phone for me?
Like a goat born with two heads, the Verizon Coupe writhes and bleats briefly, makes a pale mockery of its intended function, and with any luck dies before it can be a burden to anyone. I traded it in for a CDM-8905, and I’m now much happier.