Wednesday, February 18, 2009
For whatever reason, it seems that the last phone I had decided to crap out on me and stop allowing the receiver to work. Basically, this meant that the few people who called me would hear me explaining this problem to them while they yelled 'CAN YOU HEAR ME? NOW? NO? HELLO? NOW?' as I dejectedly told them that I had no idea what they were saying, because I couldn't hear them.
After visiting the Verizon store, I was told that something inside the charge terminal (or whatever spacetalk term they used) broke off and now made my phone thing that I was using a Bluetooth. They also asked if I had tried using the Speakerphone option. Of course, being the infinite hub of wisdom that I am, I replied to them that no, I had not; nor had I even thought of it.
Needless to say, it worked; and for the next week, while my (free!) replacement was being shipped to me, fellow SUNY Buffalo students rejoiced in hearing my family, friends, and I shouting at each other through my confused little phone. Finally the new phone came, however, and oh how excited I was! It could make calls, receive calls, send texts, receive texts, all like my older phone, but newer and shinier (honestly, it is shinier)!
Around Tuesday evening, I decided that it would be a good idea to celebrate having an 8pk of Guinness by drinking one, so I pull out my travel mug (you know, in case I had to drink on the go), and fill it up. My ex-girlfriend had travelled home on train for the weekend for a family emergency, so I decided to text her to see how everything was and when I would be picking her up. It's about this time when my new phone supposed that it was parched.
Not even Michael Phelps could have pulled off so beautiful a dive (probably because he swims and doesn't dive); I was flabberghasted, unsure of what to do next. Some of the Guinness splashed out and soaked everything on my desk: newspapers, homework assignments, my laptop, and probably something else. After long deliberation (probably like a minute), I realised that I should be trying to save the phone.
Off I ran to the bathroom, Guinness in hand, yelling 'awshit awshit awshit awshit', pouring out all of it caramel creamy goodness down the sink to see my poor new phone convulsing in a show of lights that either signified Morse Code or a mini-rave. As anyone familiar with electronics would do, my first instinct was to pull out the battery, so it wouldn't short-circuit. The battery, however, was fiercely locked into the phone and refused to come out. Some finagling finally freed it, after a minute or two of struggle. It was somewhere during this that I yelled 'damn it!' about as loud as I could.
Returning to my room with the damaged replacement, and going to my Clorox wipes to clean off the desk, my roommate, who was this whole time reading a magazine, looks up and says, 'huh? did something happen or something?'
Today, after letting it dry, I've realised that somehow the keypad no longer recognises the B, H, or Y keys properly: B gets me a return with nmb, H a backspace followed by lkj, and Y now equals poiu. The frontscreen works on and off, with a white foam rising over it like a cararact; and the key colour went from bright white to a dull brown. Now that I think of it, some of my punctuations don't work, either. I am in no denial over the fact that the inside of my phone is probably covered by a syruppy residue that will haunt me for the next year or so.
All in all, it could be worse, but it's going to be hard texting. Tis is not a good waj to talk to people for a wole jear; trust me after a daie its gotten annojing.