My Misadventures with Republic Wireless

The lure of a cellphone bill at $19 a month was too much to resist. Republic Wireless and their $19/mo, no contract plan, that runs off of wi-fi (which I'm usually running on anyway)...was a wireless provider that I wanted to marry. I signed up while it was slowly opening up to more people with what it called the "Beta waves" and I was assigned to group O. I had been with Verizon and was paying about $68/mo and I didn't even get data! So when my wave opened up, I plunked down the $298.71 to get started within minutes of getting my invite. With a little hesitation at signing up for such a new provider, I kept my Verizon going just in case I took advantage of their 30 day guarantee.

Let me tell you something, that first 30 days was great! I was able to text in areas of my work building that I'd never been able to before. No more standing by a window! But here's the thing, I hardly made any phone calls. I didn't have the need to! Plus, everything else was working great...except for the fact that I couldn't surf the web away from my home wi-fi or the wi-fi connections that I built up, but whatever. I didn't want to be held hostage by the internet anyway, right?

The 30 days no risk period was getting close to an end and my only other complaints with Republic was that whoever owned my phone number before me was clearly running with the wrong crowd. I kept getting voicemails demanding that "Face" give up the money. Whoever the gentleman was that was leaving me these voicemails threatened to beat Face up several times if he didn't bring the money to specific locations and times—and I’m guessing Face regretted missing those messages. I talked to the angry caller a few times and told him that he had the wrong number. He told me I was wrong and that no, this was the right number.

These phone arguments got old fast so I decided it was time to take the plunge and port my number over from Verizon. What they don't warn you when you port your number over to Republic is that you could be unable to text for up to 72 hours. I was so confused. It had seemed so easy to port it over, why was nothing working right? I couldn't figure out what was going on at first. I emailed a few people and asked them to text me and send me a confirmation email. Finally, went to the "Community" where you are encouraged to get all your help from.

It’s a cost effective method for Republic to pawn people off on the Community and there's definitely nothing wrong with getting help from other users. I pose questions to Twitter sometimes and see other people doing the same. Other people are a great source of information and will generally be more honest about issues than the company ever would be. Republic's Community is no different. It's a place where I would go to find how people work around Republic because frankly it isn't working right. I loved the screaming rants that people would go on because I knew I wasn't the only one that says Arrested Development style, "I've made a huge mistake." Oh, I tried to make it work. The monthly bill was really nice, but the frustration....

So the community gave me my answer: porting your phone number means that texting is non-existent for a few days, but it cleared up just like they said it would. I figured things should be great from there, but then... I had to move to a new apartment. This meant making phone calls. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots of phone calls.

It quickly became clear that automated systems could not handle my phone. Hearing "I'm-I'm-I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'm Sor-ry!" was pretty standard for any call with an automated system. It was really funny the first dozen times. I'd put my phone on speaker for whoever was nearby to get a good laugh too. Not so funny now. And actually talking to real people was just as annoying. The line would cut in and out, which Republic explained away as being the result of going between Wi-Fi and Sprint's network. Unfortunately, that excuse didn't fly with me because I typically made calls from the comfort of my own home...while on my wireless.

Not only that, but the dropped calls were different too. I experienced what I called the "Silent dropped" call. The Silent dropped call results in a drop of all audio, while the seconds are still counting. Sometimes the other person would hang up, the seconds would keep rolling and they'd try to call me back. I wouldn't be able to switch to the other call because the screen would be flashing between off and on--this actually happened again...while I was trying to switch service providers away from Republic. It was good times. Naturally, the problem usually occurred when I was working from home and trying to assist a client. I sent more than one quick email, "I apologize, I seem to be experiencing technical difficulties with my phone. Here's the information you need."

Then the problems started growing like the McDonald's food chain. Republic's logo, the green rainbow shape, is supposed to display on your phone whenever you are connected to the wireless to signal that well... "You're connected!" Unfortunately, it stopped meaning that. Getting access to the internet would become next to impossible while on wi-fi (I spent more time switching to a laptop or my kindle than I'd care to admit). More than once I was in the process of tweeting something along the lines of, "Oh wow, Republic is so great that I can't even access the internet while on the wi-fi!" and twitter would fail to update over and over. Most of my complaint tweets would be sent a day later when I had access again. I couldn't even complain on a timely basis!

The texting issues after I ported my number never seemed to get better. My Fiancé got used to always contacting me via chat or email because texting didn't work 90% of the time. Now, I text a lot; when I was with Verizon my stats typically showed that I was texting roughly 2000 times a month. Take away my ability to text and I'm dead in the water. My main form of communication is gone. It was always devastating to me when my texting capabilities became non-existent. Plus, I rarely got all of the texts that I mixed after texting finally returned. Then there were all the times that my phone would send out my texts over and over. A friend told me that she got 16 copies of the same text before she gave up keeping track. Her phone wouldn't shut up for a long time as the notifications came in. Again, this is funny the first time, but not so much after several occurrences.

So I griped about the issues again on Twitter and Republic finally took notice. They tweeted me and said that they had improved since then. I was curious how they'd improved since the day before and said as much. They proceeded to try to get me to talk to their helpbot (who never once responded to any of my tweets, by the way). Another follower of mine joined in on the conversation and Republic got really snippy and told her that she obviously didn't read their tweet. She let them know that the internet is forever and they backed down, but I still grabbed screen shots of everything. (Click the image below for full view)

Fed up, I tried to go through their help service and proceed to re-open my ticket every time I had the issues that I frequently had to deal with. I ended up with quite a few messages between me and them over the course of a few days. Me: It's broke. Them: Do this. Me: It's fixed! Me again: It's broke again. Them: ...

They did try everything from making me delete all of my messages to factory resetting my phone, but there's only so much of that you can take. I just stopped letting them know when it broke. It wasn't worth the trouble when the issues would come back in a few hours and I had already decided it was time to go ahead and break up with them. After all, a relationship between a wireless provider and its users is all about usability. I loved the little bill. But the trouble of trying to get it to work consistently wasn't worth the $22 and some change after tax. It was a rip-off. The $19/mo advertised was way too expensive for all the trouble I went through.

I hung in with Republic Wireless for about 6 months, 7 tops. I couldn’t handle it any more. So I switched to Boost. My brother had been using them for a month or so longer than I used Republic and had no issues with them. And I really didn’t feel like jumping into yet another contract like Verizon, so I figured why no go with one that I knew people with firsthand experience could vouch for? I made one little mistake though. I wanted to keep my phone number.

I don’t have a lot of experience with porting phone numbers. I usually just opt for the new one. But I wasn’t keen on repeating the “Face” man incident. The thought of dealing with calls at all hours of the day for what was probably drug money did not appeal to me. There was just one tiny problem with this; Boost was convinced that my phone number was a landline. I had my number originally with Verizon, so I knew that it was definitely not a landline number. I talked to person after person over the course of two days; mainly because my RW phone kept dropping the calls. They kept referring me to the landline department and I kept asking, “How is this a landline? I’m holding a cellphone in my hand. Do you see why this is hard for me to understand?”

Those poor people probably hated me, but I really just wanted to understand.

So after a little digging and once again going to the RW Community, I found that the service is basically a VOIP service and that other carriers do consider it to be a landline service. This was bizarre news to me, but I won’t pretend to have the most technical acumen. After finally getting a hold of the mysterious landline department with Boost and their random hours, I was able to get things sorted. It took just a few minutes with them and I was set. Despite the annoyance, it was still easier than porting to RW! And with that, I was finally free of them! Or so I thought…

After you port your number, you have to cancel with RW and hope that they actually cancel it. There were lots of complaints in the Community that RW continued to charge them and I was a little concerned that I wouldn’t notice the $22 leaving until a bill got declined for the lack of money. But I needed to end things, so I sent the message requesting deactivation and received a letter back asking me to confirm.

The interesting bit about this letter was one sentence, “Please be aware that once we cancel your service the phone will be shut off instantly.” Now I spent a lot of money on that phone and they were telling me that my phone would be shut off instantly? I *own* my silly Motorola Defy XT! How come I’m being denied the use of my phone? Not that it’s worth trying to use beyond my service with them… It’s a horrible phone after all! But the principle of making people pay full price for a phone and then shutting it off when they don’t approve of your service is just wrong**.

But…it’s finally over! I left the Republic 3 months ago and couldn’t be happier. Things aren’t perfect with Boost and honestly, there’s never going to be a perfect provider. But, I at least feel like I’m getting *something* for the money I’m putting into this carrier!

Honestly, Republic has a great idea that just wasn't being done well. The idea of paying for what you get is phenomenal, I just didn't like not getting *anything* for what I was paying. After all, any idea or company that lets you nix the big cell phone companies can't be all bad. But as I've been hearing lately, this service is probably best left to an app rather than a full blown wireless provider. I just don't think Republic will back up and try again. So if it's going to be done on the level that they're going for, Republic needs to make some big changes, provide real customer service, and lasting solutions to problems.

In the end, they said they were sad to see me go. And ironically, I felt they were being truly honest about that. If they weren't sad to see me go, they were a little jealous of me. As I used my RW phone for one last phone call to my new wireless provider...my call dropped. How poetic is that!

**I still have the phone and keep meaning to test it to see if they were really right about the whole, “YOUR PHONE IS DEAD TO US” thing but haven’t done so yet. So there’s still the possibility that they weren’t being honest on that front. I may remember to check one day and make an update, hah!

Slice of Life: A Sausage Pizza for the Vegetarian

I try not to eat out very often when I'm at work, but some weeks just don't go very smoothly. This week was one of those crazy ones. Between spending two days at home dealing with the almost-end to my struggle with the apartment complex and the trip to the vet for my cat's dental cleaning, lunches weren't being made as usual. So in times like these, I usually go to one of my fallback places.

Today's choice was Randy's Pizza.

I love Randy's Pizza. They have the least pretentious salad in the area. Seriously. Most places these days feature salads with cranberries, feta, and slivers of whatever they felt like toasting today. And most of the time, I just don't want that crap. Please, just give me a hearty salad with a lot of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions! Randy's Pizza delivers on that, plus they add banana peppers and a lot of mozzarella. It just can't be beat.

So I went in and ordered the usual salad with the one-topping slice of pizza. I always ask for mushroom cause I can't think of anything tastier than fresh mushrooms. They're always so pleasant in there and today they were especially so. Usually they just holler at me and I come grab my food. They didn't even give me the chance. My salad showed up right away and I went to happily munching on it like a bunny.

Then my pizza showed up. It was fresh out of the oven and steaming, so I hardly noticed that there was something amiss. I was busy reading through the tweets I'd miss while at work. Came across an article about why eBooks can't be bought in English out of the US and was trying to remind myself to read it later (Putting that in here so that I still remember to read it later...hah!) Realized I had finished more than half of my salad, it was time for a bite of pizza.

I was so excited about how many mushrooms they threw on top. So amazing! But it looked strange..."What is that on my pizza? Is that...sausage?"

It's pretty sad that I wasn't quite sure what sausage on pizza looked like. I haven't been a vegetarian** for *that* long!

So I got up from my seat and walked back up to the counter with the slice, "Excuse me...I hate to do this to you...but is this sausage?" The guy looks at the pizza and says, "Yes Ma'am, it is." I wish I knew what my face looked like in that moment, probably was red with embarrassment. I've turned away food one time. I don't care if my order is wrong 98% of the time, I eat it and move on. The anxiety of thinking about turning away food is enough to keep me from doing it. But...it's a little harder to do that since I made the switch to veg.

"I'm really sorry, I asked for just the mushroom slice. You see, I'm a vegetarian."

The guy was so nice about it. He found my order and was trying to figure out what happened. They put in another slice for me and apologized profusely. I could hear them talking through the back like they offended my religion or something. "She's a *vegetarian* and you gave her *sausage*!"

It sounded like the person that took my order had simply written down the wrong thing and tried to scribble it out, but the next person didn't catch the scribbley-ness. Really no big deal. But they seemed genuinely upset about it, like I would never come back because of the error. Trust me, I'd go there every day if it wasn't for the fact that I try to be gluten free most days. One day I'll kick the stuff, but for now...gluten is going to happen every so often.

Also, they're just so nice in there and they seem to get to know their regulars pretty well - A sign of a great small business if you ask me. Every time I go in, there's someone coming in for "the usual" and some quick conversation about sports. I love that kind of atmosphere. There's no fuss; it's just laid back and honest.

Anyway, I really can't stress how good the employees' of Randy's were to me. Some places act like you've ruined their life by turning back food and I understand that. But when I'm trying to be as nice as possible about any issues, I don't want to deal with angry employees. I'd really rather not eat food that I have to worry about whether someone spit in it out of spite.

So in my head I keep thinking, when can I go back? I want to go back soon enough that they still remember me. I really just want them to know I'm not running around spreading meanness about a mistake. Plus, I really want another salad...Seriously, they're delicious.

**Heck, I'm technically a pescatarian...but there's an awful lot of people in my area that think vegetarians eat chicken so I keep it simple.

That One Time Where I Talked a Lot About Peeing

If you've heard one thing about the healthcare in the US, you've probably heard the most important thing: healthcare here sucks. A month ago, I went in for my yearly pap--also, known as the most cold and boring dildo session ever-- and because of my insurance...I had to go back to get an actual physical. Even though the difference between the pap and physical is about...oh checking my temperature and listening to my heart, I have to make the drive twice and potentially pay two co-pays--waiting for the bill to magically appear in the mail. Hurray!

I have two big fears about going to the doctor. The first is that they will want me to pee in a cup and I won't have had enough to drink to even think about such a task. And the second fear is that they will want to draw blood and…again, I won't have had enough to drink to get blood out of my teeny tiny veins. The way I combat this fear is to drink at least 30 oz. of water before I go in to the doc's and to not go to the bathroom all morning long; because if I don't plan to do this, I will inevitably be asked to do both.

So this morning I got up and started drinking...and drinking...and...I went to the office and naturally they didn't ask me to do either at first. They got my weight and for once didn't tell me I was fat. Then they told me that I am 5’ 6”. Now, I'm not the tallest person in the world, but I am definitely not 5' 6”! My response was akin to, "Are you sure about that? I did not shrink that much in a month! I'm typically 5’ 7” on a bad day" So the nurse measures again and sure enough, I turned out to be 5’ 9.5”!? My conclusion: the nurse has no clue how to measure height...Pretty sure I'm the average of 5’ 6” & 5’ 9.5”. But there was no convincing her that she was wrong a second time!

After that embarrassing fiasco, they put me in a waiting room and left me there for at least 30 minutes. I hadn't asked to use the bathroom when I walked in because it wasn't an issue at the time. I was still happily gulping my water... And then the water hit. I never feel like it's kosher to run around the doc's office and try to find the bathroom because the doc will magically appear at the exact moment I step away. So I tried to wait it out.

I tried to hold it as long as I could, I really did. I stared at all four tiny walls with the typical doctor torture devices, re-adjusted in the most uncomfortable waiting room chair possible and stared at the "bed" thinking that would probably be even more uncomfortable than my chair. Dammit! Why didn't they ask me to give them the damn sample at the beginning? They used to always ask at the beginning!

I started to stare at the sink in the corner.

"If only I had a penis... I could pee in the sink and the doc would be none the wiser, unless of course she walked in while I was giving it a final shake. But still, I'm pretty confident that I could have played it off somehow. That sink is way too small and it'd be way too obvious if I tried anything like that."

I finally gave up and snuck out. Ran around the corner and debated for about two seconds, "Do I just leave them the freaking sample and pretend like I got asked to do it? Nah, that might be weird. 'Here's some pee! I made it just for you and I hope you like it!!'" So I just went and it was the most glorious moment of my whole day. But it didn't last long.

I opened the bathroom door, annoyed that I had to sneak around and more annoyed that my doctor was waiting outside my room.

After only a few minutes she asks, "Did you leave a sample?"

"Ummm, no. I got stuck waiting for over 30 minutes. What happened to the whole, always asking people to do that...at the beginning? My bladder cannot take that kinda pressure" She ignored me. And then about 5 minutes into our conversation, she decided she really wanted that sample. "Are you sure you can't pee? You could come back later, but why don't you try before you go..."

Really?

Really??

I drank all that water, wasted it and you want to both draw blood and expect me to perform on command after finally getting to go to the bathroom!

Not cool.

But I still had half a glass of water, so I said I'd give it a try. After acquiescing that "Perhaps, I could try again..." I was escorted to the blood taker person's station and sat down, trying to chug the last few gulps of water in my glass and convincing myself that I could go again before leaving. The person taking care of this immediately started thanking Jesus. It was weird.

"You've got tiny veins like me! Thank you Jesus, be good to us and give us blood!" She starts trying to find the veins again; my arm feels like it's going to fall off from the rubber band she used to constrict my blood flow. "Jesus, you're going to give us the blood. I can feel it!" I laughed awkwardly in an attempt to not offend her, but I think I only encouraged it. She stuck me with the needle several times and then came out with a loud, "Jesus, oh you are good to us! Sweet Jesus!" She pulled two vials out of me and let me know that we wouldn't ask Jesus for anymore, he'd done enough today.

I guess my veins are named "Jesus"?

The doctor came back and the blood taker person says, "Oh, we got the blood already and she's going to go pee for you now."

No pressure. Am I right?

So my worst fears about the doctor visit came true. My whole appointment revolved around everyone cheering me, Jesus, and my bladder on. Thankfully, I made short work of the job and ran out of there as quickly as possible. Pretty sure I left my last shred of dignity in that little sterile yellow cup. I just wish I'd written on the side of the cup, "I made it just for you and I hope you really like it!"

Hello Again!

Disclaimer: So I've neglected this blog...a lot. But here I am, back again!

I feel like I have so much to say, but not enough to say about it all at the same time. At this moment in time, I'm dealing with one of the most frustrating experiences that I have ever faced. But for my own good, I can't say a word about it. Nothing would be more cathartic than to let every single instance of this day pour out into internet. But to grant the things that I know such immortality could be my own undoing.

Hubris.

Hubris feels like a guy that you meet on the corner of the street near that little deli that can't seem to bring itself to put enough vegetables on your sandwich. Always there. Always annoying. Hubris has this way of luring you into a false sense of security, waiting for that one perfect moment...And knocks you down.

They say that pride goes before the fall. Sometimes it's your own pride and other times it's someone else' pride.

There's an old episode of Due South where an elderly person in an insane asylum says something like, "Never let your feet leave the ground or they'll get you. They'll take you to the blue room."

Always shuffle. Never let your feet leave the ground.

I refuse to be taken to the blue room. My feet may have gotten knocked out from under me, but it's not over. It's a setback. I'd say it's nothing more than a setback, but the truth is this: it hurts. It hurts like hell and it's going to hurt like hell for awhile.

But I'm still going back for another sandwich. And this time, there had better be some damn vegetables on it.

A Message to the Management

To the managers:

There is nothing more foolish than racial discrimination...especially within the workplace. After all, we are all human beings. Underneath our skin lies bones and muscle working together to form a framework for beating hearts. In our society, we consider the heart the very centre of our emotions. And my emotions are boiling right now.

Originally it was my intent to finish out my two weeks notice with JCPenney's, but it has come to my attention that I have been discriminated against because of race. Not my own race, but that of the person most dear to me.

I have witnessed time and time again within this store discrimination and in poor taste...I held my tongue through much of it. I kept my mouth closed when a manager referred to one of the girls under my supervision as “that dyke.” I held my tongue when certain employees and managers made my Hispanic fitting room attendants feel like they were “cleaning ladies.”

But then it was brought to my attention that management was making comments regarding the interracial nature of my relationship with my significant other. Faces were made behind my back, groans and comments like, “How weird is that” came out of the mouths of people that I respected and thought better of.

I should have known better, having heard tales from certain managers of tricking Hispanic customers into signing up for credit cards or watched as people expected me to translate the rough English of one of my fitting room attendants without trying to understand.

A few months ago, I started hearing comments claiming that I am “a bum” or that I don't “do any work.” There can be no question of my work ethic. When I came to JCP I was tasked with revitalizing a failed recovery program. With my small team, that recovery team was made a success. And when I first started working with the fitting room associates, our scores were abysmal...we brought them to above company standards.

With the time that I have been here I have learned many functions of the store. I
can fill in for pricing, shipment, re-ticketing, cashiers, fitting rooms, markdowns, training, visuals, etc. With only a few minutes of training, I can do anything and I will do it well.

When I was informed of the reaction to my significant other, I came to the realization that the attacks on my character and on my work ethic started when my partner started taking me to lunch on the weekends. And I will not have this. I kept quiet before—a mistake that I regret—but no more.

My character can be attacked and yes, it will bother me. But I remember the words of my mother to me when I was a child, “Remember who you are.” I know who I am and I know that my record has stood above the rest at every single school and at every single place that I have worked.

In the grand scheme of things, it does not matter if I am called a bum, because the record shows otherwise. But I will not stand for discrimination against my partner and I. He is a better person than I am. He feels sorry for you in your ignorance. But I can't feel sorry for you.

I will not be coming back to JCPenney's after today, the 28th of February 2011 to work or to shop. And you can be sure that you have lost the business of my family, his family, and any of the number of people who have showed such loyalty to us.

Now I'm asking you to remember who you are...human beings. There is no hierarchy for race, sexual orientation, religion or lack thereof. Acting as though there is a difference makes a person less than human.

The Future of Public Administration

From my viewpoint, the future of public administration is very grim…at least for public administrators. As our society moves on to rely more and more heavily on technology, the need for public administrators becomes less and less. We begin to rely on artificial intelligence to maintain our systems, technological, social, even the judicial. Everything that we do is continued by the robots. Unfortunately, robots cannot understand the complexity of the field of public administration because it cannot be defined.

For the robots, it does not exist if it cannot be rationalized or put into logical thought processes. The first robot that tried to understand the antiquated ideas put forth by public administration had to be destroyed. The other robots could not even use the parts of that poor robot as anyone who tried also went “insane” as we would call it. After that unfortunate incident, robots put aside the idea of ever discovering what public administration actually was and focused on keeping humans alive.

American robots were programmed with complete knowledge of the Constitution and prosecuted civilians as they understood the law. No one questioned the reliability of the robots to fulfill this duty and any other duties, because the humans gave up their responsibilities a long time ago. They proved—just like they did when they stopped wearing seatbelts and needed a law to tell them that it was the right thing to do—that they were irresponsible and needed rational, logical, and methodical leaders. And who better to take the task then robots? Thus, public administration ended just as surely as this class is ending…with ROBOTS!

Just One of the Guys

I was always one of the guys and I loved it. While all the other girls were calling each other fat and crying in the bathroom at the Christmas banquet, I had the full attention of the cutest guy there. At the retreats while all the other girls fought over the two mirrors and the two showers, again I had the cutest guy’s attention. Sure, he wasn’t flirting with me. We joked about the other girls, tromped through the woods, and claimed to have not been in on the biggest pranks. Truth be told, we had nothing to do with the pranks, but no one would ever believe a word of it.

When I got to college it seemed to me that things were the same as always. I made friends with the guys. All my friends outside of school were guys and it was completely natural that the friends I would make at school would be male.

When I wasn’t eating with my best friend, on occasion I would get lucky enough to eat with the military. They very rarely acted any different around me than they would any other guy. It was the way I liked it. At least that was what I thought…

There was this one occasion where I headed into lunch with the military and uncommon to their normal behavior a few of the guys playfully fought over letting me into the school cafeteria. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I secretly enjoyed the minor change. In the end, the guys did have more fun in the competition of it than the actual task of opening the door. But that’s the way things were!

As we all gathered together we started eating the sandwiches we brought, the hamburgers we bought, and the odds and ends we probably swapped with one another. Per the usual order of the day the conversation turned to hot women. Apparently the women who worked at one particular bar were voluptuous and rather desirable. Nothing too out of the ordinary conversation-wise until talk turned to the women at our school.

The guy who originally brought up the bodacious babes from the bar brought up just how ugly “all the women” at Tech were. Heads around the table nodded in agreement and I sat there feeling like I’d been slapped in the face with my anime character book bag. He blabbered on and on about how no girl at the school could tempt him. Everyone was homely and not worth his time.

It just went on and on.

The “gentleman” of the group finally looked at me as if he just realized that I was indeed a woman sitting there--at their table--not just any table…theirs.

I wanted to cry.

He sat their staring at me as the offender continued his long-winded speech. As he stared he caught the attention of the other males at my table and they joined in on the staring. My face was turning bright red as the other 7 males turned to look at our idiot of a friend who finally caught what was going on after at least 5 torturous minutes.

I can’t imagine what he saw when he looked into my eyes. But something made him stop and say, “O J…I didn’t me-mean…You-you’re one of the guys!” He knew he had messed up and I was hurt.

I lifted my chin in the most defiant way I could without actually being the girl I wanted to be and start crying. I looked him in the eye and simply said, “I know. I’ve always been just ‘one of the guys.’”

After a moment or two the awkward silence ended and the conversation moved on, but I realized for the first time that perhaps I wasn’t as comfortable with my role as I thought.