After a frustrating phone call
with someone from T-Mobile who said it would take them 28 working days to send me an email with an access code to “unlock”
my phone (for the price of £15) to use it with other networks, I decided I had
two options. 1) Buy a French phone. 2) Go to some dodgy phone-unlocking
shop. The former was a possibility but I
knew that the cheapest rate would be on Amazon.fr – but this would take about 5
days. 5 days I don’t have. The latter therefore seemed a lot more
appealing. But I live in the 6th
arrondissement; the chic, sophisticated, fashionable arrondissement which is
not home to semi-illicit places like this.
After some intensive googling, I decided to trundle over to the 17th
arrondissement to hunt out Koto Mobiles - a shop which prides itself on its
ability to unlock any phone, as well as selling a variety of cheap, sickly accessories
to prettify your mobile. Since when was
phone-jazzling cool?
The majority of the shops on the
street were closed down, barred or graphitised.
Splendid. Perfect hide-out for a
Thursday afternoon. I walked nervously
into the shop, slightly worried that I might have entered a dope parlour,
brothel, or that my purse would get stolen.
(Gotta love excessive stereotyping).
I immediately brought out both my phones and said “est-ce que vous
pouvez debloquer mes telephones portables s’il vous plait?”
To cut a long story short, I did
some bartering and instead of paying €25, I paid €16. I’d been told online that it would be €5
per phone (but turns out that’s only if you own a brick), so I felt it was only
fair that I work some of my British charm into the equation to avoid excessive
costs.
Bartering method (got this down
to a fine art!)-: When it was time to pay I emptied the contents of my wallet
and said in my sweetest, most angelic voice “I only have €17”. He looked at me for a moment and then waved
his hand, saying that was fine. I
grinned, unknowingly flicking my hair to exceptional
effect (girl next door, say what?). But when it came down to it, I actually only
had €16.40. I smiled at him innocently, tilted my head to
the side and kept 100% eye contact. He glared
at me slightly, but I knew I’d won the battle.
Although he did call me “maligne”
which I translated literally to mean “malign”, or “evil” (sob). On closer inspection in a dictionary however,
I realised it actually means “smart” or “cunning”. Ahh, so he worked out that I was trying to
manipulate him to get a better deal? True
that. Language barriers are nothing; as
I previously stated – it’s a smile which gets you places.
He then introduced himself and
after asking for my name he said “ah, like Tony Montana?” The only reason I know that Tony Montana is a
fictional character from the 1983 film Scarface (#nerd), is because each day when
I Google myself to catch up on the latest gossip (I’m practically famous you
know?), the name Tony Montana has inevitably appeared on Google’s radar. So I replied in the positive, adding “or like
Hannah Montana”. “Who do you prefer?” he
asked. In a freak on-the-spot
decision-making process I went for the pop star. *hides
face*
But in a phone-hacking shop, all
formalities are dropped. Numbers are not
exchanged on the corners of magazines or diagonally across napkins. By placing my phone in his company, I was unknowingly
giving him my digits. Which is probably
why I received a variety of texts from him upon leaving, commenting on how “charming”
I am. Man clearly has good taste. I decided not to reply (being the grateful
person that I am). The things I have to
do to avoid creeps in Paris…
Watch this space.
Montana
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