R.I.P. Silver god
I am of the evil people.
Prior to three years ago, I made fun of those who owned cell phones. I couldn't imagine conforming to the masses like that. I laughed at the guys who thought they were so cool with their phones clipped to their belts, and I rolled my eyes at the girls who would have obnoxiously loud conversations on their flip phones on the MBTA. Then, for my 20th birthday, my mom got me a cell phone. I remember the first time I used it: It was evening, and I was walking across the BC campus to get to class, talking to my boyfriend at the time. I felt so vulnerable, not being aware of my surroundings due to holding a conversation, which was odd considering that I frequently walked with my discman on.
I can't say that it was love at first use, but I certainly didn't shun it. I enjoyed knowing who was calling, I had never had caller ID before. My landline maintained its place as my first phone of use, especially considering that I was sharing a cell plan with my mom and had limited minutes. That summer, I subletted an apartment and no one really knew my home phone number there, so I had to rely a little bit more on my cell phone for contact. Slowly, but surely, my cell phone was becoming a staple in my life. Though my use of it increased, I still didn't trust the phone book in it. I kept a book of written numbers and refused to save them in my phone. I had heard too many horror stories about people losing all their information. I was not going to become a victim of technology.
When I graduated college, my cell phone was what kept me in touch with my hommies. I no longer had my dorm phone number that had been with me for four years. People knew how to reach me by the cell phone digits 203-561-8377. A little over a year ago, my first cute little fat black model was upgraded to a thin, silver (gasp!) photo phone. I enjoyed having a more chic phone, and though I certainly don't care about having the smallest/coolest/most advanced phone in the world, the ability to play tetris on it while riding the T has proven to be invaluable to me. Over the last year, I've learned that text messaging can be a fantastic form of communication, that camera phones without a flash won't do much for ya, and composing ringtones is a lot more fun than writing chorales for a counterpoint class. My silver phone was my companion, my aid.
I even started to use the phone book a little bit, though it wasn't until last month that I started relying on the cell's phone book alone and stopped writing down the numbers. There are about twenty numbers that are exclusive to my phone, and not in my cute little manual phone book. I had begun to trust technology a little more. It took a lot of breathing exercises to get to where I was, but I did get there. After the silver prince convinced me it was up for the job, I promoted it to my sole phone. I no longer have a ground line, no other phone contact with the outside world.
Then the INCIDENT happened. It's still a fresh wound, I can remember it like it was yesterday. It was yesterday. I was walking in the Garage in Harvard Square, speaking to my guitarist on the cute little silver cell, when I momentarily forgot that gravity thing, and that if you let go of things, they fall. My phone crashed to the ground, but I wasn't worried. This is a rountine we had been through before. I would drop it, it would get mad for a second (the battery would pop out and it would turn off in defiance,) but it always forgave me for the little knicks and scratches. This time, though, things were different. The battery didn't pop out.
I looked at it on the ground for a moment, waiting for the "just kidding!" declaration from my phone, waiting for it to eject the battery and smile at me. It didn't happen. It just sat there. When I realized that it wasn't going to recover, I picked it up and saw that it had turned off. I tried my best to resuscitate it. My fingers scrambled around the buttons. One two three CLEAR! One two three CLEAR! Nothing. I tried a few times, but nothing happened.
I spare you the rest of the guts and gore. I died a lot inside. I eventually got myself to a Verizon store where I learned I had full coverage and a replacement (replacement? you can't just REPLACE my freakin' friend by giving me a new model!) wouldn't cost me anything. However, I will have to wait until Monday to receive it. The screen is completely dead, but it comes out of its coma from time to time, and will make and receive calls. However, I can't see who's calling or even if the phone is ON. It's a disgrace.
I feel so...lost. Lost and betrayed. I didn't realize how dependent I was on the fucker. I didn't know it would abandon me in the height of our relationship. I am now essentially phoneless. I can't believe I actually trusted it to stay safe in my care. It should have known better. I will not put such faith in this next one. Every number will be written down by pen, I will not get so close to another phone again.
So if you've given your phone number to me in the last couple of months (or hell, if you just want to give me it for the first time,) my email is skorval@yahoo.com. I won't get any texts messages for the next couple of days, so leave me voice mails if you need to reach me. Sigh. I'm a shell of my normal self.
Prior to three years ago, I made fun of those who owned cell phones. I couldn't imagine conforming to the masses like that. I laughed at the guys who thought they were so cool with their phones clipped to their belts, and I rolled my eyes at the girls who would have obnoxiously loud conversations on their flip phones on the MBTA. Then, for my 20th birthday, my mom got me a cell phone. I remember the first time I used it: It was evening, and I was walking across the BC campus to get to class, talking to my boyfriend at the time. I felt so vulnerable, not being aware of my surroundings due to holding a conversation, which was odd considering that I frequently walked with my discman on.
I can't say that it was love at first use, but I certainly didn't shun it. I enjoyed knowing who was calling, I had never had caller ID before. My landline maintained its place as my first phone of use, especially considering that I was sharing a cell plan with my mom and had limited minutes. That summer, I subletted an apartment and no one really knew my home phone number there, so I had to rely a little bit more on my cell phone for contact. Slowly, but surely, my cell phone was becoming a staple in my life. Though my use of it increased, I still didn't trust the phone book in it. I kept a book of written numbers and refused to save them in my phone. I had heard too many horror stories about people losing all their information. I was not going to become a victim of technology.
When I graduated college, my cell phone was what kept me in touch with my hommies. I no longer had my dorm phone number that had been with me for four years. People knew how to reach me by the cell phone digits 203-561-8377. A little over a year ago, my first cute little fat black model was upgraded to a thin, silver (gasp!) photo phone. I enjoyed having a more chic phone, and though I certainly don't care about having the smallest/coolest/most advanced phone in the world, the ability to play tetris on it while riding the T has proven to be invaluable to me. Over the last year, I've learned that text messaging can be a fantastic form of communication, that camera phones without a flash won't do much for ya, and composing ringtones is a lot more fun than writing chorales for a counterpoint class. My silver phone was my companion, my aid.
I even started to use the phone book a little bit, though it wasn't until last month that I started relying on the cell's phone book alone and stopped writing down the numbers. There are about twenty numbers that are exclusive to my phone, and not in my cute little manual phone book. I had begun to trust technology a little more. It took a lot of breathing exercises to get to where I was, but I did get there. After the silver prince convinced me it was up for the job, I promoted it to my sole phone. I no longer have a ground line, no other phone contact with the outside world.
Then the INCIDENT happened. It's still a fresh wound, I can remember it like it was yesterday. It was yesterday. I was walking in the Garage in Harvard Square, speaking to my guitarist on the cute little silver cell, when I momentarily forgot that gravity thing, and that if you let go of things, they fall. My phone crashed to the ground, but I wasn't worried. This is a rountine we had been through before. I would drop it, it would get mad for a second (the battery would pop out and it would turn off in defiance,) but it always forgave me for the little knicks and scratches. This time, though, things were different. The battery didn't pop out.
I looked at it on the ground for a moment, waiting for the "just kidding!" declaration from my phone, waiting for it to eject the battery and smile at me. It didn't happen. It just sat there. When I realized that it wasn't going to recover, I picked it up and saw that it had turned off. I tried my best to resuscitate it. My fingers scrambled around the buttons. One two three CLEAR! One two three CLEAR! Nothing. I tried a few times, but nothing happened.
I spare you the rest of the guts and gore. I died a lot inside. I eventually got myself to a Verizon store where I learned I had full coverage and a replacement (replacement? you can't just REPLACE my freakin' friend by giving me a new model!) wouldn't cost me anything. However, I will have to wait until Monday to receive it. The screen is completely dead, but it comes out of its coma from time to time, and will make and receive calls. However, I can't see who's calling or even if the phone is ON. It's a disgrace.
I feel so...lost. Lost and betrayed. I didn't realize how dependent I was on the fucker. I didn't know it would abandon me in the height of our relationship. I am now essentially phoneless. I can't believe I actually trusted it to stay safe in my care. It should have known better. I will not put such faith in this next one. Every number will be written down by pen, I will not get so close to another phone again.
So if you've given your phone number to me in the last couple of months (or hell, if you just want to give me it for the first time,) my email is skorval@yahoo.com. I won't get any texts messages for the next couple of days, so leave me voice mails if you need to reach me. Sigh. I'm a shell of my normal self.