Death of a Cell Phone

By Joey Kirk

Stepping out of the car, right into an ankle-deep puddle of what was Tropical Storm Barry, it took flight out of the security of my grip and into what would be its demise.

A moment of slow motion began as I reached out to snatch it before it made a splash. No such luck. The water rippled. A bubble rose to the surface.

Soaked, I reached down to pick it up. I immediately tried to resuscitate it by blowing deep breaths. I wiped the water from its screen. No time. No bars. No sign of life.

While it changed its appearance many times, but it never changed its personality. It had been a friend when I was in need of kind words. It was a mother’s soothing voice when the stress became too overwhelming. It had been a jukebox when no music was playing.

And at that moment, it had died. It had drowned. I was alone.

The day prior, I had driven 15 hours from Dallas, Texas, to Tallahassee, Fla. Every three, I was connecting with my mother, my father, my sister … my friends. I wasn’t alone.

Now, panic took over. Fear set in. Four states over, I was stuck in the middle of a strong, dangerous rainstorm; no way to communicate with those who cared about me. No way to tell them I was OK.

For seven years, my cell phone had been by my side, day in and day out. It was given to me along with the responsibility of driving a car. Everywhere I went, my phone went. It had its own place to stay whenever we left the house — my front left pocket.

It strayed away from its normal home on this particular day, resting on my thigh as I made my way down Interstate 75, dodging the rain droplets that smacked against my drenched windshield. I had just finished a long conversation before stopping at the scene of the incident in Lake City, Fla.

With a quarter of a tank of gas and the heavy rain leaving me blind to the path I was taking, I decided to stop and fill the tank. The station became a beckon for travelers wishing to avoid the downpour. After circling the pumps for 10 minutes, I found an empty space. I parked beneath the awning, however, the rain still penetrated the area, leaving unsuspecting drivers soaking wet; myself included.

The rushing water covered the asphalt; just deep enough for such an event. As I exited my vehicle, the phone decided to join me, plunging to its impending death.

With a dilemma on my hands and crisis in the midst, I only had one option.

After discovering a Cingular store location in Gainesville, only 15 minutes away, I plugged in the address to the GPS unit in my car, and I was set to retrieve a new phone.

Stopping at the store, I found the cheapest phone to be $280, without a service plan extension. Given my plan went month-to-month, I signed a two-year contract, handed over my credit card, and I decided to purchase the same model, this time with a built-in video camera.

Since then, the other phone has dried. The time has been restarted. The picture is back.

So now, I have two Motorola Razors. The first, I wanted. The second, I needed.

I guess I could’ve used a pay phone. It just wouldn’t have been the same.