A diary of me not getting my cell phone fixed
Day 1: Notice that the crack in my screen has grown exponentially longer and more complex, transforming from a modest stream into a robust estuary leading out into an ocean of crack. Immediately forget this and continue on with my day.
Day 2: Observe that texting, an activity I have never really enjoyed—due largely to an irrational fear of hand cancer—has become more difficult. The 'A' button is impossible to hit. The letter appears only when I rotate my thumb to the side and tap lightly and fast, like I am surprising the 'A' from behind. This seems like something that should bother me, but I acclimate.
Day 3: Begin to also struggle with the 'S' and the 'W' keys. Have a series of desperate exchanges:
Day 5: Refer to myself self-deprecatingly as a "cracked screen girl." Think about other cracked screen girls throughout history:
Day 10: Feel sometimes as if there is a ghost in my phone. Long-abandoned apps are opened without my permission. The screen wiggles when I press on it. Sometimes it lights up for no reason. "Technology seems more alive when it's glitching," I say to my wall. Damn, my wall replies.
Day 12: Set up appointment at Apple Store.
Day 14: Sleep through appointment at Apple Store.
Day 15: Pick up a Craigslist desk in Crown Heights. Spend 15 minutes in front of stranger's apartment trying to type her name into Venmo. Venmo goes wild, selecting the wrong names—the names of former college classmates I haven't spoken to in years, the name of someone I dated in 2015. We ultimately decide that she can trust me to do this later.
Day 15: Spend another 15 minutes trying to get the Lyft app to let me choose a large enough vehicle to fit the desk. The Lyft app is determined that I choose a "Lux Black XL." "Noooooo! Stop!" I scream, alone, in the street.
Day 15, later: The desk seller texts to inform me that I have Venmo'd the wrong person.
Day 16: "Technology," I sigh. "We are so dependent upon it. " Everyone nods.
Day 18: I realize I hate my phone, and that a part of me enjoys watching it crumble into literal pieces. I am untethered, practically. I have not looked at Instagram in 14 hours.
Day 19: I stare at the crack. It looks like a cartoon hunchback villain, scowling eyes crowded down by a bursting, veiny skull. "My friend," I think to myself.
Day 20: Begin to spend more time texting on my computer to compensate for my phone issues. Because of this, also begin to watch even more Love Island than usual. Talk about Love Island with everyone who will listen. Begin to say things like "Do you think I have chat?" and "I've fallen into his dick hole!" Do a deep dive on the Season 3 cast. Discover that one of them DIED in the WOODS.
Day 21: Begin to think seriously about making another appointment at the Apple Store.
Day 22: Continue to not make appointment at the Apple Store. Make all sorts of other appointments, just not one at the Apple Store.
Love,
Ellie