Up until three months ago both my wife and I had cell phones that by today’s standards are considered archaic. If needed, one simply flipped them open like a notebook and talked. Period! All keys could only be accessed by opening the phone which meant no more butt dialing, which 911 truly appreciated. The only other added features were a texting pad, which we never used, and a camera, which we also never used. And we were as happy as clams at high tide. And then all of that wonderful simplicity was lost. My wife’s phone died.
She went to our Verizon store to get a new model. Because her old phone was far past the trade-in date, she was happy to learn she could get a new phone totally free. Not only that but she could upgrade to one that was far more advanced than her old phone. She could get a “smart phone.” Lucky her! In the beginning she was giddy with excitement, eagerly ready to take advantage of all the added benefits this new technology offered her. There was only one small glitch that she forgot. Without fail, anything electronic that she touches turns to shit. This was no exception. And guess who cleans up the shit. Me. I would patiently attempt to show her what buttons to push to arrive at a certain action. Then she would say something brilliant like, “That’s the exact same buttons I pushed. Why didn’t they work for me?” Riiiiigggghhhhtttt! I don’t care if it’s a simple adding machine, there is no way that two people can push exactly the same buttons and come up with two different answers. But because I have grown quite accustomed to my Adam’s apple remaining at its present location, I keep my thoughts to myself.
After a week of listening to her screams and rants that had the neighbors nervously herding their children to the other side of the street while walking by, she finally yelled, “Here. We’re going to trade phones!” Because I could not return the phone for another without paying full price, I reluctantly made the trade. Of course the fact that the look in her eyes strongly resembled that of someone in desperate need of an exorcism may have also played a role in my decision. And, after all, what’s there to learning a new phone in comparison to watching a wife’s head spin on its neck. Bottom line, now her shit was my shit.
In the beginning I thought, okay, I can make this work. It might even be kind of fun having the internet at my fingertips. That was two months ago and I’m still trying to “make this work.” I want my old phone back!
Unlike my fold-up model, which my wife is now joyfully skipping around the house with, this phone has to be carried in a belt holster to protect the screen. I simply stuffed my old one in my pocket. The volume toggle is located on the edge of the phone for convenient muting of the ring tone, which I have never used, and yet it is accidentally pushed all the time. “Where have you been?” my wife screams. “I’ve been trying to call you all day!”
I pull my phone out of its holster. “I don’t know. I….The damned volume is turned down!”
On top of that, this phone spends more time on the charger than on my person. Unless I remember to turn off the WiFi search button, my phone’s battery drains faster than my bathtub. And even then, without any use whatsoever, I get two days tops on one charge.
When I get a call, instead of simply flipping the lid and talking, I have to get my fat finger on a little icon just a little larger than a flea at the bottom of the screen. While driving, by the time I dig my phone out of its holster hid behind the seatbelt, find the icon and push it, the person calling has long since hung up. In the mean time I have run a half-dozen hapless motorists off the road and into the dingle bushes. There is no doubt that “smart phones” were the contributing factor in our state making the use of cell phones while driving illegal.
In closing, if these new phones are “smart phones,” I want my “dumb phone” back!