Dear Cingular,

It's not working for me anymore. Unless I'm in a major city, we just don't connect. You're always talking smack about the lowest number of dropped calls, but if that number is one in three, who are we kidding?

Baby, you suck.

If I'm in the mountains, in Asheville, or even on the beach, you're never there for me. I get voicemail and my phone never rings. People leave me messages at noon and they come through at seven that night. Come clean, baby. Where've you been?

I know we said we'd give this a year, we signed a contract, but there's more to a telecommunications relationship than just a pretty face. Sure, that Black Razor would turn any man's head, but I need more than an endless list of useless features. I need a phone that works. Don't _even_ threaten me with all those hot pics I took, or my personal phone list. I can take my SIM card and port my number now. You don't own me: anti-trust put an end to that long ago.

Yeah, I know you've been around the block, that you used to go by AT&T Wireless before you were married to BellSouth, but word on the street is you've kicked Jack out and you're changing your name back. You're getting back with The Suits and that can't be good for us either. Look at what they did to you -- a sweet Southern Bell now totally out of control and headed for rehab.

So it's goodbye. The boys from Memphis'll be delivering my new Verizon phone in the morning, and we'll see how we get along. She's not as flashy, she doesn't have your sexy logo, but she comes from a good family and hasn't had her corporate assets passed around like some crackhead biker chick at Sturgis.

You know you can't grow through acquisition, baby. True growth comes from within. Save some of that advertising budget and build a few towers. Maybe someday you'll meet a great guy who doesn't know about your checkered past. Maybe you can still have a shot at a telecom happily-ever-after. Who knows?

But hey, we had some good times, didn't we? I'll try to remember them when I toss that Black Razor in the dumpster (unless I burn the damn thing first) and, no matter what, we'll always have Paris.

Paris, Kentucky. No one to talk to, but the cell service is great.


@ Copyright 2006 Greg Richter / WTF Music