A Matter of Phonetics

Yesterday, Saturday afternoon, was a sunny crisp day in Chicago, so I put on some old jeans and a parka and took a walk around my neighbourhood, Wrigleyville. I walked east down Addison to Boys Town, cut south on Broadway and then west on Diversey to Lakeview, dropped into Borders to pick up Lonely Planet's "Italy" for our upcoming family vacation and Sports Illustrated's fantasy baseball preview for my two drafts. Then I strode back home north on Clark.

Waiting for Willard's call so we can go watch some basketball on Southport, I poured myself a huge glass of water, placed it on the breakfast table and settled down to finish the crossword. Then I remembered I had to return Christensen's call. Hovering over the table, I thought of my past cell phone follies and wondered with a mental chuckle, what if I dropped my cell phone into the full glass of water? (Extra points if you got this joke -- a year and a half ago, I murdered a laptop in cold blood by spilling a glass of water all over it).

Before I could unflip my phone, it slipped out of my hand and... and it fell into the glass of water. I couldn't even sink a basketball with such a sweet swish on a ladder next to the hoop. I was flabbergasted for a languishing two seconds, then quick as a flash, picked it out, dried it with a dish towel, and summoned the hairdryer to blow on it at full force.

Did it work? No.

I've had my fair share of experience with drowned electronics (a Nokia 3330 which sizzled to death in a pool of detergent at Target), but none with this acute sense of desperation. There was no way for Willard nor Christensen to get in touch with me. So I ran out to the car, jumped in, and trucked back down to Clark and Diversey to the Cingular store. Double parked and rushed into the store like Butch Cassidy looking for the Sundance Kid -- can I get a new cell phone... pronto?!

No. Well yes, but if I paid the $180.00 for a brand new phone, no commitment (I could get a piece of shit LG phone for cheaper). But if I reported the "liquid damage" to Cingular insurance, which I had, I would pay $50.00 and get a replacement phone -- but they would have to ship it. It didn't make sense to pay the $180.00, so I called the insurance from the automated phone in the store, put in my claim, was assured I'd get a new phone no later than Tuesday. In the midst of it all, I had to run back out to move my car because a cop pulled up.

I came back home and did what I should have done when I set up my home office -- set up my land line. Thank god we had a contact list for the women's softball team -- I was able to call Willard. But oh, her signal died in her apartment, so we made the rest of our arrangements to meet at Justin's via email. Then I called Christensen and told her to call Willard to get in touch with me. Then for the next five hours, I had several 312s, nachos, fries and a double scoop waffle cone (Cubby Crunch and Signature Sunset) and everything was good again. Thank god for good friends, including Willard and Christensen.

This morning, I thought I'd give putting my phone back together a whirl. Hit the button, and good morning, starshine! It was like Easter came early -- my 6102 rose from the dead! This only confirms my hypothesis that Nokias really are the best phones in the world. I once had an 8250 that I dropped in the Dominick's parking lot, skidded onto the path of an oncoming car, was run over and escaped with just superficial damages. I used it until I got a new phone. More recently, last fall I threw my old phone, a 6100, with force across Jack Sullivan's in a moment of frustration (with my old job, proving a point in conversation). The screen cracked, but again, remained useable until discarded. A former 6220 fell out of my coat pocket in a cab, but the only damage sustained was $600+ worth of calls to Pakistan.