It was an early Friday morning when I received an ominous text message from T-Mobile.
Dear valued customer;
Please note that the outrageously out of date phone that you’re currently using will no longer be supported by our network as of June 6, 2015. Honestly, we’re seriously surprised we even had to send this message. We figured that pure embarrassment would have caused you to replace that brick of a phone you’ve been carrying. Jesus, you must look like Zach Morris from Saved by the Bell…
Please come in and replace your phone ASAP. As a precaution, we’ve also sent this message to your Aol.com email account…and dispatched a time machine to 1993, where you’ve apparently been living for the past 20 years.
Ok, so not the exact text from T-Mobile. I took some artistic license. The message was the same.
Replace your phone, you dated bitch.
Here’s the thing. I’m cool with computers. I recently got a new laptop and I had no problem naming the specs I wanted when I hunted it down.
But I suck with mobile. I mean, why would I need to be good at it? As previously stated, I’m a crazy recluse who rarely leaves the house. So I don’t pay a lot of attention to my phone and I’m certainly not an iPhone kind of girl. Those things cost like $600!
Do you people realize how much weed that could buy?
So of course, it was with great trepidation that I headed down to my local cell phone store to get myself a new texting machine.
I arrived at the store and was immediately overwhelmed with how trendy everything was. There was some 23-year-old emo chick behind the counter, with gauged ears and a disinterested look on her face, talking to an equally trendy looking dread-locked man holding a phone with enough apps on it to take down the International Space Station.
So I sat there with my sad little phone, in my sensible flats with my normal sized piercings, and I waited and eavesdropped.
“Ok, Mr. Danger, I’ve added your sym card to your new Nokia 89000 4G LTE Wi-Fi Capable Planet Crusher Sat Nav, ESPN B-52 Phone. It looks like all 8,000 of your contacts have transferred successfully. Have a nice day.”
8000 contacts? Who the hell has 8000 contacts? I immediately felt angry and inadequate at the same time. I don’t have 8000 contacts. I’m not even sure I’ve met 8000 people in my whole life.
I checked my phone and felt even worse. 34 contacts. And four of those contacts were duplicates for the pizza place that I tried to add after one too many beers.
Finally, it was my turn. Gauged ear girl turned to look at me. “How can I help you?”
I thrust my phone at her, holding it with two fingers, as though it was covered in Ebola. “I need to replace this.”
She gave me a confused look. “Have you been out of the country?” She studied the phone as though looking at a strange artifact from the past, like one of those steam powered dildos from the 1800s. “I don’t think this company makes these anymore. Hell, I don’t even think they make phones anymore. They mainly supply prisons with metal detectors now.”
“Um, yeah, I’ve been busy…” I left it at that, hoping she’d assume I was some kind of super spy who’d been on a mission in Yemen and didn’t have access to technology made after 2001.
“Ok, so what are you looking for?”
I had figured that was evident. “A phone.”
“Yes.” She drew her answer out very slow, like she was talking to a mentally unbalanced person. “But what do you need to do with it?”
“Fruit Ninja.” That answer was immediate. My phone time is literally spent 1% on texts, 2% on phone calls and 97% on Fruit Ninja.
We decided on a Samsung Galaxy for two reasons. One, it was free and two, I broke 1000 on Fruit Ninja when she let me try it out.
I went home pretty happy with my purchase. Granted, I’m not 100% sure on how to use everything. I might have downloaded every video ever uploaded to YouTube when trying to upload my photos to my computer, and I’m almost sure I accidentally texted everyone I know a photo of a cartoon dog pooping.
But Fruit Ninja seems to be working. In the end, that’s all that really matters. I also managed to take a selfie! Check it out.