*this piece is in no way profound, meaningful, theological, or didactic.*
To my hideous, beaten up, 99 cent wonderphone: thank you. You stepped up big time in a pinch when I was phoneless, and I’ll always appreciate that. It was really fun, when I first got you, to tell people “but, hey, it was 99 cents” and then listen to them rap Thrift Shop back to me. We were doing so well. I don’t know what I did to earn your wrath.
But I have. You are a vengeful hunk of polymer, and I loathe and love you at the same time. It’s horrendous, for example, that you so frequently dial 911 from my pocket. I understand it’s just poor engineering, but good grief. I think I have the world record for butt dialing the fire department. And they always leave a voicemail making sure there is no emergency, and I so hate voicemails.
Also your battery behaves like a caged animal, breaking free at every available opportunity. If you fell an inch onto a pillow it would pop out. Perhaps all that energy used in escaping accounts for the fact that your battery has never once lasted an entire day, regardless of data usage.
Then there’s autocorrect. This is a belated blanket apology to everyone who has ever been cussed out by my phone and its vengeful system of text messaging. It doesn’t care if I meant to type shirt or sure or duck or batch. It’s going to swear at you because it’s cranky and constantly fighting with its battery (see above). Unless I want to swear. If I want to swear at you, my phone is almost certainly going to censor me. I’ve named it Murphy, because it swears at my parents and is overly nice to Rebecca. We are living in the worst of all possible worlds, this phone and I.
It’s lovely how autocorrect tries to plan my social life for me. It doesn’t matter which Sam I try to text, for instance, autocorrect will always initially select the other one. Don’t even get me started on the woes of when it decides to email someone to their outdated Facebook email instead of texting them. And it isn’t at all creepy that it tracks how many texts I send and attempts to rank my friends for me. Not even a little bit.
And then there’s the little grievances. Like how haha always becomes hahahahahahahahaha and I sound like a hyena. Or the way that the word “I” never seems to make the cut. Instead it becomes it, in, is, etc. and I sound like a moron. And I’ll completely pass over the apostrophe issue. It takes THREE BUTTONS to put one in manually (and it almost always gets corrected away), and Murphy’s law continues to put them in all the places they don’t belong. I know the difference between its and it’s. I do. My phone will also choose to leave total gibberish at times. It trusts me that inromt is a word, but the word often has to be changed to obvi. Obviously.
And, of course, there’s the adorable way that you deleted my map app with no warning whatsoever. It’s fine, I’m not the sort of person who relies on navigation. It’s all in my head. I’m like a homing pigeon. It wasn’t at all confusing to be lost in the middle of some suburb of Dallas with the new, less awesome map app refusing to give me directions until I paid for an upgrade. Never to fear, the vague map was easy for someone with my astute visual interpretation skills.
Oh, Pantech Flex. You were the link that tied Waco to Oklahoma City. You were the distraction that helped me survive the most boring anatomy class of all time. We got hooked on Candy Crush together, discovered that I resemble Monica Lewinsky together, and listened to the Oh Hellos so many times that when I try to say Oh in a text, you immediately add hello to it. I used to tell people you didn’t get me, because you are sporadic, confused, and incredibly aggravating. But you do get me, Murphy, you really do. You’re as random and secretly vengeful as I am, and you can’t spell the word random either (there should be an n at the end. I’m sorry but it’s true). We belong together Murph, and even if we didn’t I’m stuck with you until the two year warranty is up.
Right this second, as I attempt to text Lauren, I am remember the way you sometimes suggest whole sentences at a time. Like right now, when I type “I” into the text bar you suggest “it’s not that big of a deal”. Apparently I say that to Lauren a lot. Intuitive of you, really. But for goodness sake “I” CAN BE A WORD ALL BY ITSELF.