As I headed out for drinks with a friend one evening last week, I grabbed a coat I’d not worn for some time… it was pouring with rain, and it was suddenly chilly, even for September.
I threw it over my shoulders as I ran down the stairs (late, late…) and searched for the sash to tie it up. My pockets felt full, and I slipped my hand inside the right one:
A liquor store receipt, a used metro ticket, a short grocery list, a lip gloss I thought was long lost (Happy it’s found! MAC is pricey!!) and a cheeseburger wrapper, since I often eat them while walking down the street, but I never litter. Oh, and six cents I’m sure I found on the ground.
In the other pocket? Something else I was certain was long lost…
Oh, hai cell phone!
I lost track of this thing sometime in June, I think. What drove me craziest about it was not knowing what happened to it! I like to know I dropped something down a sewer, or left it on a bus bound for Saskatchewan. Or whatever.
And as much as I spent my summer daydreaming about replacing this relic with a new, glossy, super-sexy smart phone, the reality is I don’t use my phone much at all.
I kind of loathe talking on the phone.
I have it in case of emergencies, like when school needs to reach me. (Though, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been called…) I tell you, my cell phone so seldom rings, whenever it does, I gasp and do a spazzy little dance, tossing it from one hand to the other like a hot potato, completely surprised that the thing is ringing at all.
Up until last year, I had the phone number taped on the outside of it, just so I could recall it, if asked. I don’t even text. Or sext. Or whatever that thing is when you send naked pictures of yourself with lude comments to other people electronically. Not that I’m against it or anything… I’m just not that kind of girl. (Call me old-fashioned, I guess.)
I will admit, I’m also not into carrying around forty quarters in order to use a pay phone, like when I arrived in Toronto this summer without it, and had to actually locate a pay phone (imagine!!) and insert not one, but TWO quarters in order to make a call. It’s the most archaic thing I’ve done, like, ever. Next time, I’ll just find a weak-looking kid to push down, and use his. (Just kidding! Kinda.)
I would, however, love to be on le Twitter while in line at the grocery store, or change my Facebook status to reflect my state of mind, since it’s all so very, VERY important, but the truth is, I spend a large portion of my time in my house… not talking on the phone. And anyway, I don’t need another internet-y bill. (This is what I tell myself in order to feel better about not having a fancy phone.)
Besides, I think I’d rather save up for things I would really enjoy. Like diamonds. Or maybe a pony.
How much do you love your phone? Can you live without it?