July 13, 2005

• In Memory Of The Nameless Phone

       My cell-phone and I had never been the best of
  friends.  Despite its many bells and whistles, complete with
  camera phone, Internet access and Tetris (my personal favorite), it
  seemed to hate me from the beginning.   My husband has the exact
  same phone and it is in the same pristine condition it was when he first
  bought it.   He claims he just takes better care of his
  stuff, but I am convinced my phone had a death wish.  Its sole
  purpose in life was to commit suicide.   It’s not my fault, but my
  husband now knows to always get the warranty for anything  I’m
  going to be touching at all.

       I’m sad to say “it” doesn’t/didn’t have a
  name.   We never got along well enough for me to refer to it
  as anything other than a disgusted “it”.   Over the last nine
  months “It” has slowly made it’s hatred of me clear.   First
  the side of it cracked (“it” jumped out of my hand with no provocation
  on my part) then the screen cracked giving it a “mirror, mirror on the wall…”
  sort of appearance.   Eventually the screen died altogether,
  and most recently the spring that holds it open decided to become
  possessed.   I would be talking quite contentedly when it
  would surreptitiously snap shut, sinisterly trying to catch my ear and
  quite successfully scaring the crap out of me while convincing the
  person on the other line I had hung up on them (I suppose technically I
  had, I just had to explain to whomever, it wasn’t me who was upset…it
  was “it” again).    Yesterday,  I picked it up to
  make a call and I had barely hit “talk” before it snapped shut on my
  fingers at which point half of it made a wild dash for the
  floor.    Thus ended its short, frustrated life: 
  Death by decapitation.   Maybe it was actually middle aged, 
  I’m not really sure what the life expectancy of cell phones are. 
  Having killed two of them before, I’m afraid I’ve never reached
  anything close to normal.

       I stared mournfully at the two halves this morning, not from any
  affection for the phone, but with the comprehension that I had at least
  fifty numbers on that phone and I only had about three of them
  memorized.   I went to call Jim and complain, when I realized
  I didn’t even know his number.  
  I wandered around the trailer somewhat aimlessly,  wondering if I
  had perhaps written it down somewhere….I hadn’t of
  course.   So I got rather reckless and decided to just close
  my eyes and punch in whatever numbers seemed natural.  I was
  hoping my fingers could remember the number even if my brain
  couldn’t.   They did, I got it on the second try. 
  However,  I don’t think that’s going to work again. (the irate
  gentleman I got the first time persuaded me not to try)

       Hopefully the knowledge that I now have no phone numbers will inspire
  some of you to call me, thus relieving me of the responsibility of
  trying to find you.   hint…hint…

  • 5:19 pm
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