Another Victim of the Information Age, I Am (Part 1)

Talking About Not Talking

A couple of weeks back, a friend changed the number on their phone, and didn’t shell out the number (for reasons obvious to this author and said party). Two days into having a new phone, they reported that they hadn’t felt that ‘free’ in a while.

No calls.
No texts.

A mutual friend asked if New Number shut their phone off, or if they missed their bill, etc. Told them about how the number had changed, and their reaction was one of surprise. Something to the tune of, ‘But how will anyone get a hold of you? That’s insanity!’

At the time, I responded to both with absolute certainty that I would be fine if there was no line of communication, and that I was happy for New Number in their ‘freedom.’

Fast forward to this last weekend.

Oops: Or, How I Hate Open Toilets, and Learned to Love Slow Motion

I was at my parent’s house, and I was going to take care of some paperwork in the bathroom. I brought my iPhone in with me – Check my email, txts, facebook, FML, etc. I didn’t even get a foot into the bathroom before I snagged my bare foot on a rug at the entrance to the bathroom, causing me to lose my grip on the beloved 32GB iPhone 3GS. My drummer reflexes kicked in, and my hands snatched and grabbed for the airborne wireless Wonka factory. Unfortunately, my fumbling with the phone ultimately led to its demise.

The arc was perfect. Windspeed not a factor unless I sneezed. Not a sound in the house.

In movies, when something awful, and inevitable, is about to happen, everything goes into slow motion. This was one of the only times in real life I experienced it first hand. I watched as the phone launch out of my palm, springing off of my reaching digits. It spun ever so elegantly through the air in a way only a statistics professor could really appreciate. All at the speed of dial up. All of the build was punctuated by a nasal ‘plunk’ directly into the three inches of water at the center of the toilet bowl.


Now, I wouldn’t put so much emphasis into the awesomeness of the flight, but really, its majesty is only beheld in how I could not shoot any object into any hole, even if I tried.


So, on one hand, I’m devastated; on the other, I’m impressed at my accidental long-range shooting skills.

Enough about the gorgeous leap from hand to throne — Back to it.

The iPhone remained submerged for only a moment before I yanked it out, blaring expletives the whole seven feet to the toilet. I watched as water dripped out of the data port, and the screen slowly faded in stripes until the screen was blank.

The iPhone had an accident. Call the ambulance.

I shook the crap out of it in an attempt to clear lingering water from its delicate innards. I then set it on some towels to sop up what came out. Panic is an awesome, powerful thing. I hardly remember doing anything after lift off. That’s my cave man instincts, right there. So much a cave man, that I didn’t think things through with my highly evolved, tech centered brain. Instead of letting the puppy dry, I plugged in the wall charger. I would later come to know that doing so did more damage to the phone, and there is a chance that I could have salvaged my expensive toy if I had taken some more thoughtful steps.

This is where my journey really begins.


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