I wondered what all the fuss was all about as I pottered around in the kitchen preparing to go to bed. My daughter appeared in the door, streaks of black make-up obscuring her puffy red eyes. It looked like she had been attacked. I stopped what I was doing and stared, but before I had time to ask her what was the matter, she blubbered, “Mum just dropped my Blackberry in the bath!”
She laid out the pieces of her phone on the worktop. The look of horror on her distraught face told me it wasn’t working without me having to ask. Her whole world had actually just come to an end. No calls, no text and no BBM.
I tried to suggest that she put it in the airing cupboard overnight to dry out and that it would probably be okay, but she exploded in tears and explained she had already tried to dry it out with the hair dryer and it was BROKEN. She ran to her bedroom in utter dismay.
I had to do something. How could I leave my little girl in a world without text and BBM? It was unthinkable. And besides, that phone cost me a fortune and I couldn’t afford to buy her another one. I made my way upstairs to my treasure drawer. This is where I keep all the things I value in life. Old coins, medals that belonged to my uncle Eric’s father, Zippo lighters, important bits of paper and my pencil that’s made out of a real branch. I ignored the fossils and pieces of real meteorites as I rummaged through to find what my kids had fondly named, my gay old phone.
This small flip phone had been my constant companion for many years. I had used it to form friendships, to get me work and it had saved me on lots occasions in an emergency. It even became a legend on site when I used it for the ‘100 text messages in a day’ contest with a friend of mine. It had endured building site conditions, been dropped in the toilet among other nasty things, fallen from a scaffold, but had never let me down. It deserved a place in my treasure draw. I presented it to my daughter and asked if she wanted to use my gay old phone until she sorted her one out.
She wiped away her tears and gave me a cynical look. “Will it even work with my sim card?”
I assured her it would despite of its appearance, and showed her it even had a slot for her memory card so she would still have all her contact numbers. She removed the card and inspected it. Two hundred and fifty mega bites? How much is that? She asked. I explained that we used to have mega bites before giga bites were invented. After some reluctance, she put in her sim and memory card. I plugged it in and fired it up.
Despite sitting in my treasure drawer for nearly a year, my gay old phone sparked into life revealing the familiar start up screen, Kurt you rock, keep being awesome. That always made me smile every time I booted up my phone, and still did. It accepted the sim and memory card with open arms and once again became a fully functional phone.
“What do you think of my gay old phone now?” I asked, beaming with smugness.
“I actually think it’s pretty awesome at the moment.”
Man! I wish I had caught that on film!
So now my gay old phone not only was a legend, but was a hero too, saving my little girl from the horror of what so many other unsuspecting people have had to endure in this high tech world…My Blackberry’s not working!