My family is a bit weird with cell phone technology. And by weird, I mean insane. Is my family the kind of folk that camps outside the Apple store when the latest, shiniest iPhone is released for the world to drool over?
Oh, no. If only, dear friends… if only it were that type of insanity.
No, the insanity that my family suffers from is of a very different variety. It’s the type of insanity that, at the end of the day, leaves me with this gem of a device:
Yes. Yes, that is an antenna.
We are the anti-new phone folk, the anti-cool technology family—a very rare breed. We are the ones that will hold on to our old phones even though we are due for an update. We are the ones who will get a fifth replacement under the warranty instead of getting a new phone. I promise you, I am not exaggerating here.
I didn’t always have this phone. I promise. True, it was my first phone that wasn’t a hand-me down. It was cheap and fun and perfect for a high-schooler in 2005. It even retired for a few years near the end of my freshman year of college, 2008, when I finally got the type of phone I’d been wanting for years: the RAZR.
Its smooth, shiny, silver case was like a beacon in the night. Its screen—so large! Its buttons—also large! I didn’t care that I was years behind the bandwagon; when I held it in my hands for the first time, my coolness factor shot through the roof. I could take over the world with my new ten-dollar phone and my take-no-prisoners attitude.
Obviously I was the only one who felt any level of cool in regards to owning a Razr in 2008. I clearly have a very messed up idea of breakthrough technology.
Now you see, this phone was a trooper. A real soldier. And yes, you heard me correctly when I used the past tense. WAS. Which leads me into his tragic tale…
In the beginning, he was just your average phone—a phone with a dream of being something more, of having a name for himself. But he clearly needed to go above and beyond the expectations of the normal cellular device before I bestowed a good name upon him. After all, he had his basic name: Phoney. His was very similar to all the names I name electronic objects: my previous (and sadly, current) phone? Cellie. My laptop? Compy.
Indeed, I am a true pioneer of nomenclature.
My glorious Razr, however, was special. He would experience three magical, life-altering name changes, and end up with the most amazing name a cell phone has ever had.
Phoney didn’t prove his worth and get a name change until the day he met his first nemesis:
I was at my sister’s house, and Phoney was in the back pocket of my jeans. I had been playing with my nephews, and needed to urinate—badly. The potty dance was in full force as I shuffled into the bathroom, and I had completely forgotten the fact that Phoney was living his life snuggly behind my right asscheek.
I yanked my jeans down and sat simultaneously. At this moment, Phoney decided that he wanted a bit of adventure and that it was high time to prove himself to me. So he dove into the toilet like an idiotic champion.
With my ass on the seat and my pants around my knees, I heard the splash of my beloved cell phone entering the toilet. Instantly, I closed my eyes and willed my tiny, full bladder to not blissfully release its contents onto my poor phone. After an excruciating moment, I jumped off the toilet, pants still down and without hesitation plunged my hand into the oh—God—I—have—no—idea—how—sanitary—this—is toilet water and snatched my phone from the toilet’s evil clutches.
My potty dance was still in full swing as I shimmied my jeans up and wiped my poor phone on a spare towel before flying out the door. It was life or death at this point and the clock was ticking.
I rushed into the kitchen yelling, waving my phone like a maniac.
"MY PHONE FELL IN THE TOILET! MY PHONE FELL IN THE TOILET! OH GOD ALMIGHTY, WHAT DO I DO!?" I screamed.
As calmly as she can, Sister replies, "Take out the battery!"
"…I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT!"
"Are you JOKING?!"
I was not joking. And I was still dancing the potty dance.
Friends, I am clearly one the most tech-savvy girls you will ever meet.
My brother had made his way into the kitchen at this point and handled the situation of removing Phoney’s battery. My sister filled a plastic baggy with baking soda and placed all the pieces of my phone inside. I leaned over Phoney, stuck in his personal ICU, ready to let him go to cell phone heaven. But much to my surprise, after a 24-hour drying session, Phoney had survived and more than proven himself to me and received the last name of McJenkins.
He liked to keep it formal, you know? All business.
His second name change came about a year and a half later, when his battery died. Somehow, Dad miraculously managed to find a place that still carried batteries for my ancient cell phone. It cost more money to buy the battery than it did to buy Mr. McJenkins in the first place, but I was not surprised that the concept of buying a new phone never was addressed. No shocks here.
There was a good chance that he would not accept the battery, seeing as how he was so old, but my worries dissolved when he started running perfectly fine, thanks to his new organ.
I proceeded to give him an honorary degree in Being Awesome and he was known thereafter as Mr. Phoney McJenkins, Ph.D.
His next hurdle came a few months later, when he began suffering from the white screen of death. I was devastated. All this love, all this caring I had put into Dr. McJenkins was worth nothing if I couldn’t see anything on his screen.
I knew what needed to be done.
And I fixed that motherfucker. I was a champion of champions, and like Frankenstein, I brought the dead back to life and changed his first name from the all-too-plain Phoney to something more fitting: Zombie.
At this point, I was sure that Dr. Zombie McJenkins could never be beaten. He was a loyal, faithful little guy and nothing was going to stop him… until I offered him up as part of an impromptu techno-light-show dance by a drunken friend.
Dr. Zombie McJenkins danced so hard he split in two.
He’ll always hold the top spot in my dumb-phone loving heart… until I get another phone that DOESN’T HAVE A GODDAMN ANTENNA.
IT'S FOUL, I SAY.
