I have a Droid 2 Global. It’s a neat little phone which allows me to travel internationally and jump seamlessly between networks. This is funny because I don’t have a passport. I can’t even get into Canada.
I’ve had this phone (nickname: Onibara) for about 2 years and it has been one of the best phones I’ve ever owned, except now it’s starting to go south. It overheats, the battery life is poor, and the music player likes to randomly blast Eydie Gorme when I’m texting. Awkward during meeting since my co-workers apparently prefer the Sammy Davis Jr version of “Too Close For Comfort”. What do they know…
When my phone overheats, it obviously gets hot, like fresh coffee through a mug hot, and the battery won’t charge or hold a charge, or pretend the charger is even plugged in. They keep ice packs in the in the office freezer , so from time to time I borrow it to give my phone a soothing ice nap.
While I’m borrowing an ice pack, I decide I should probably have some pretzels or Cheetos or whatever else costs less than a buck in the vending machine. I’m not starving since it’s only been about 2 hours since lunch so I know it’s just me being antsy and anxious about the piles of work I till have to complete before heading out the door.
Cheetos is my final answer. Chester wants $.90 for a 2 ounce bag of cheese-flavored snacks. I feel this is a good exchange of currency for goods, so I feed my beat up dollar bill into the machine and punch A5.
It’s like watching the Stargate open – right down to the Iris getting stuck.
Banging on the machine is futile, and can get you fired, since there’s a manager on the other side of the wall. I perform the walk of shame to the secretary at the other end of the building to, to give her my tale of woe so she can give me a refund.
“Mom, my Cheetos are stuck.”
She looks at me, down at the desk, back up at me and asks, “what?”
“My Cheetos are stuck.”
“Cheetos.” I swear I don’t stutter, but I do talk fast. “My imitation cheese-reminiscent snacks.” The blank look was priceless. It goes on for a beat longer, and I say slowly with exaggerated enuciation, “I need ninety cents.” Her eyes widen as the penny drops.
“OOooooooohhh – Cheetos, I didn’t know what you were saying. Did you hurt your hand?” She fishes the canvas bag of loose change from her desk. I don’t kow how often the vending machine man visits and leaving sticky notes on the machine invited derision and smart-aleck responses.
I look down at the desk, and I still had the ice pack in my hand. It was insulated by my sweater and I forgot it was there. No wonder she thought I said “key toes”. She probably figured I’d suffered a blow to the head on the long walk down and some good Samaritan gave me an ice pack for the swelling.
“My phone overheats and this keeps it from blowing up.” She nodded. She’s used to me and my rambling and I doubt she hears half the things I say. I won’t bore you with the five-minute conversation about smartphones, why Sprint sucks, AT&T feels like sleeping with barnyard animals, and T-Mobile may have cute spokespeople but is essential a network of glittery tin cans and really fancy string, but trust me when I say it was entertaining. Back in the kitchen my ninety cents unlocks the Seventh Chevron and two packs of Cheetos drop. This makes me inexplicably happy, like Bicycle Girl.
All of this to say, I am back at my desk, Onibara is sitting on an ice back and I’m entertaining smartphone recommendations on the Verizon network. Please don’t say iPhone as I’m not interested in owning something that stylishly disposable, like Bicycle Girl.