Can You Hear Me Now? No, Not Anymore.

Last night I went into Verizon (store, not arena) with the intention of getting my Treo fixed. The camera had never really worked properly on it, the whole phone was turning itself off constantly, and the connection for the charger was loose. But in the controlled melée that was the Verizon store at 5:30 on a weekday (seriously, you’ve never seen so many incredibly irritated 27-year-old white chicks trying to figure out what Jesus would do if confronted with such incompetence delaying His arrival at yogalates class) I found myself having to make a split-second decision. The tech support people told me the whole phone was pretty much shot so they’d just give me a new one for free since I’d been paying the extra five clams a month for insurance. But the only thing they could transfer to a new phone was my contacts list. I’d lose everything else.

More than two years of text messages, pictures, and videos I’d been saving for one reason or another would be gone. I’d lose the clip of my 2-year-old niece relaying her extemporaneous story about the ant crossing the river (“How did he get across the river?” I’d asked, compelling her to look into the cell camera lens like I was a blithering idiot and respond, “On the spider’s back.” If she hadn’t been taught that saying, “Duhhh” to an adult was rude, she would have surely added that.) I’d lose the voice memo of my fiancé singing “Juke Box Hero” to me in the truck one afternoon, his wailing almost totally obscured by my peals of laughter. I’d lose the photograph of soybean fields stretching alongside Highway 13 outside of Bethel, North Carolina, on a relentlessly beautiful day endcapping a roadtrip a couple summers ago. I’d lose all the “Congratulations!” text messages sent on September 1, 2007.

With the Junior League impatiently tapping its Tory Burch flats behind me I blurted out: “Fine. I don’t need the rest of it I guess.” And just like that, I had a new, empty Treo in my hands. Suddenly, I was 9-years-old again, informing the hairstylist that I wanted her to cut off my 16 inches of red curly hair and give me a just-below-the ears ‘do. I was lighter. Unencumbered. And a little freaked out to have said goodbye.

Advertisements

4 Responses to “Can You Hear Me Now? No, Not Anymore.”

  1. I-66 Says:

    My charger connection is loose too. It’s a bitch in the car, since the phone moves and invariably frees itself from charging.

    Just um… don’t drop this one, huh? I seem to recall you having a poor track record with dropping Treos. That or you’re just uncoordinated. Haven’t decided which.

  2. lacochran Says:

    Sorry about your loss. No back-up, I’m guessing. Ouch. Guess it’s time to make some new memories.

    Verizon is evil. I am continually amazed at their “network” ad campaign which imply great connection and service but the experience I’ve had with them says they are not even a little bit a “service” organization.

    I went Sprint and never looked back.

    Oh, and thanks for the image of Jesus doing Yogalates! 🙂

  3. Marissa Says:

    Oh technology…it really is the bane of my existence. I went through two phones last week. This week I decided to turn to Ebay for a new one and can’t find anything presentable enough that’s Verizon-compatible. It’s weird being phoneless…pictureless…so retro. However, you probably made the right decision to just take care of the situation then. I can probably learn a lesson here…and that insurance….yeah…I can probably learn a lesson there too…

  4. talkingbudgie Says:

    My boyfriend recently and very accidentally threw out a whole lot of cards given to me on my 21st birthday (the big one in our part of the world). I was sad for a while, but am now letting go of a whole lot of sentimental things attached to memories. It’s been quite liberating.

    Now if only I had a Treo…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: