Recommended wine for today’s entry: Veuve Clicquot la Grande Dame — a champagne recommended by my friends Rick and Becky. It looks to be a bit pricey, but as they said, “perfect for birthday, anniversary, graduation, wedding, promotion … you pick the special occasion.” Well, I GET A NEW CELL PHONE! For me, that is VERY special as you’ll soon see.
I am back from Connecticut and I have an important announcement: I am due to get a new cell phone. I have successfully made the ascent to the top of the cell phone Chutes & Ladders, so that I have earned the right to return to the world of adult cell phones. (That has nothing to do with pornography, sickos.)
It has been a long, arduous journey for me and I hope that you’ll be proud of how I’ve matured.
My first mobile phone (before they were cell phones, right after Fred Flintstone got one) was purchased by the radio station where I worked as a sales manager, like in 1988. It was reminiscent of the Maxwell Smart shoe phone and weighed roughly twenty percent of my body weight. But I didn’t lose it or abuse it, mainly because it was mounted to my Ford Taurus (which also belonged to the radio station), so when I quit working there, I moved up two spaces and got a mid-range phone.
This was a flip phone, in a sassy deep pink shade that said “I’m feminine, but authoritative. When I’m done talking to you, flip, you’re gone, whether you have any more to say or not.” It had a camera, but by the time I learned how to use it, the phone had gone through the wash and rinse cycle of the Kenmore. I did recognize that thump once it hit the spin cycle. A phone thump is different from the one the cat made when she got in the dryer. She survived. The pink flip phone’s fate wasn’t quite as good.
Down the chute. To a “starter phone,” the one the fourth-graders all have. Like sensible shoes, it was sturdy, black and utilitarian. Except for always forgetting to lock it and butt-calling all my friends (and some now-former friends) from my back pocket, it was serviceable. I didn’t leave it anywhere because I rarely took it out of my pocket in public.
Up one space. I maintained it for more than a year, and my husband didn’t have any ideas for Christmas presents, so I moved one space forward and got a middle-schooler phone. Not too bad, had a camera, got to pick my color (navy, so as not to be too flashy or anything – didn’t want to make it too attractive to thieves). Except for a few Sunday mornings when our friends patiently drove to our house to return it after finding it wedged in their backseat, ringing repeatedly, “home” flashing in the display, I did pretty well with it for awhile. Until the day I ran in quickly from the car, having had to pee for about an hour, and, splash. I was starting to reconsider the back pocket as the best storage spot.
My husband made me call to see if we could dupe the experts into sending me a new phone. “No,” I said, very convincingly, “I have certainly NOT dropped it in water.” (Well, it really wasn’t water…) “The little dot? No, it hasn’t changed color. Send it to you? Well, now that I look at it, the little dot is a little different color. I think it might be from perspiration. It’s been REALLY hot here, ha ha. Sir? Sir? Are you still there?”
Back three spaces. Now I was relegated to my daughter’s old – really old phone. She handed it to me and said, (and this is a quote) “OK, this has been my back-up phone for four years. I had it in sixth grade. You can’t destroy it.” Two days later, it jumped out of my hand, hit the slate floor and boom. It was that easy. I used it with a broken display for about a week before my family discovered my dirty little secret.
Now I was back to the beginning. My first $24-dollar Go Phone. It went alright. Right into a pot of pasta as I was pouring it through the strainer. Squirted right off my shoulder as I was talking. A freak occurrence. When you break a Go Phone, it’s down the chute to the beginning of the game.
On to Go Phone # 2. Each night, I would proudly set my Go Phone in the kitchen on its charger, lined up next to my daughter’s Blackjack II and my husband’s Blackberry. A mule stabled next to the Thoroughbreds. This baby was gonna make it. Except – and I swear there was some supernatural force on this one – it was in my hand one minute and was like a dunk shot into my ice tea the next. Bobbing next to the lemon. Poor thing.
So now I’m on Go Phone #3, but I have maintained it for six months. I’m at the top of the game board. OK, I did lose it in Chicago over Spring Break and had to talk to the woman in the Lost-and-Found department of the Marriott twice a day for three days, and, since for some unknown reason they have a woman who doesn’t speak English answering the phone in that department, it took awhile for it to resurface. But the important thing is, it did resurface.
I am giddy about the prospect of getting a new phone and painfully aware of all the pressure it brings. But I’m at the top of my game right now — and am excited to not have to press the “6” button five times to write the word “on.” It truly is hard to engage in witty text repartee on a Go Phone.
I’ll keep you posted.