My current mobile phone is a Nokia 6310i. I’ve owned it for a couple of years now, and it’s in perfect working order. I like this phone. It fits nicely in my hand, has a good weight to it, is easy to use, the buttons are of a sane size and it has a nice business-like appearance. It is a man’s phone. A gentleman’s phone. I wanted a camera. To do this, I would have to get a new phone.

That makes no sense, of course. The logical course of action to take if I wanted a camera would be to just buy a camera, but I knew that if I did that, I would run into problems. The first problem is simply that I know I’d end up leaving it at home. When I went to the Reading Festival last year, I bought a disposable camera and actually took it as far as the Bed & Breakfast, but when it came to taking it along to the Festival, I balked. It was just one more thing to carry, and when you’re standing in a muddy field for 12 hours, you don’t want to be carrying too much stuff. My phone was with me at all times, though.

Then there’s the money. The camera phone that is now winging its way to me — the Nokia 7610 — cost me just £29.99, and has a 1 megapixel camera. This is not much in the grand scheme of things, but should suffice for my occasional needs. If I were to buy an actual camera, though, things would be different. I wouldn’t spend £29.99, I’d be more likely to spend a minimum of £80, and then you have the problem of price creep. Price creep occurs when you make a decision to spend some money. Deciding to spend £80 is the hard part, but once you’ve decided to spend £80, it’s much easier to then decide to spend £90 for that extra half a megapixel, or £100, or £120. Before you know it, you’re buying a £200 camera that you’ll use about twice before hawking it on eBay in a desperate attempt to recoup your costs.

I can’t afford to buy a proper camera; I’ll be needing that money for when the Nintendo DS comes out.

So, to get a camera that took photos of a reasonable quality and wouldn’t break the bank, I figured I’d just upgrade my phone. Reluctantly, because upgrading my phone is only something I’ve done in the past when my existing phone ceases to work. My first phone — a lovely, brick-like grey monster from Motorola — was discarded because the battery lost its charge. I tried to buy a new battery, but was told that it would be cheaper to just buy a new phone. The second phone was thrown out when firstly, the screen stopped displaying anything, and secondly, the battery again stopped charging. Then came the 6310i, which works fine. It works fine, damnit! I don’t need a new phone. Still, at least I can eBay it.

‘Nuffink’.

So, the quest was on. I knew which phone I wanted, because although I like the manly grip of the 6310i, I also like the poncy styling of the 7610. My contract with Orange had long since expired (despite the hordes of sales reps that insisted on phoning me once a month urging me to upgrade to one of their cheapest, crappest, ugliest phones) so I wasn’t tied into anything there, but I’ve been happy with Orange’s performance so decided to remain with them for now. I jumped on the bus, jumped off again moments later, and skipped my way along Cornmarket St. to the local Orange shop. I was a paying customer today, and looked forward to receiving my allotted fellatio from the sales reps. Opened the door, winced briefly from the blast of sweaty, over-heated air that escaped, and approached some sort of ape who was wearing a cheap Burton’s suit. I explained that I was an existing Orange customer, and asked what sort of special new year deals they could offer me to extend my contract and get a new phone.

“Nuffink.”

Perhaps I had not been clear. I was a customer of theirs, actively attempting to sign up to a contract and give them some of my money. I tried again, pointing out that as I had no ties to Orange, I could just walk out of here and head to the O2 shop instead, or the Vodaphone shop, and let them perform the fellatio. The response to this was a sort of Gallic shrug. It dawned on me; they weren’t interested in existing customers — they were only going to get their commission on brand new customers.

I wanted to keep my existing phone number, and I saw no good reason for setting up an entirely new account just so they could pretend I was a new customer. But! Simply upgrading my phone on my existing account meant that the 7610 would have cost £149.99! What the hell? A new customer gets the thing for £29.99, but as an existing customer, spending the same amount per month on bills, I get to pay an extra £120?

My brain now beginning to dribble out of my ears, I gave a little “fuck you” to the ape/sales rep. and left along with my pride. First, to the Vodaphone shop, where I lurked for an age while all the sales reps dealt with hordes of small Japanese girls buying up all their stock. I’m not a patient man, so I gave up there and headed for the O2 shop, where I was pounced upon very quickly. A quick chat revealed that to have the phone I wanted, I would either have to have a £40 monthly bill, or I could pay £100 for the phone. No room for negotiation — I wanted to give them my money but I didn’t have enough, so I was of little interest.

Is this all meant to make sense to someone?

I’m trying to be as clear as possible with this, but I’m having a hard time with it so I apologise if this is all babble. This is because I don’t understand the mobile phone mentality; I never have. Where some people will reel off number/letter combinations and others will know exactly which model they’re referring to, I’m lost without Google to show me a picture. Tariffs and upgrades and ‘free’ minutes and ‘free’ texts and ‘bundles’ and ‘bolt-ons’ — these things mean nothing to me. I can have 1000 free minutes per month if I only phone other Orange phones and land-lines and only after 8pm and not on a weekend and only when there’s a mild drizzle in the air. What? How do I find out if someone else is on an Orange phone? Phone them and ask?

The Orange ape knew, of course. He knew I wasn’t going to sign up with a new provider. He knew that I didn’t understand the complexities involved, and that I would eventually just fall back to what I knew, accept the inevitability of it all, and skulk back to the Orange shop to sign up as a brand new customer. Which I didn’t; I couldn’t give him that satisfaction, so I went back home and did the whole damn thing online. New phone, new contract, new number and so on.

I don’t like the way this system works. Can’t brand loyalty be rewarded with a little customer loyalty?