My phone is maybe the highest potential, lowest productivity piece of shit that has ever existed. I remember I had a Razr that had Jerky Boys ringtones and I thought that was the most amazing thing ever. Now my phone can get online…sometimes. Usually I have to restart it at least once. That’s convenient.
I can pay bills online, but I can’t make a phone call in my own basement in the 15th largest city in the United States. I have unlimited texting, which is great because my phone likes to send the same texts more than once, occassionally four or more times. Of course, it didn’t send me a text from my buddy congratulating me on my engagement, (I verified he sent it, I showed him how I didn’t get it) so he thought I was an asshole for a month. My personal favorite was one night when I was sent the same text every hour on the hour eight times.
I realized I probably should set fire to my phone, mail anthrax to whomever plans cell towers for my stellar service, since I drop calls three miles outside Columbus, and just give up and go back to a rotary phone. Then teenagers will prank me, since I would be the only one in America without caller ID. I think it’s worth not getting texted 32 times a day “Hey bro, where you at?” Yes, my refrigerator is running and no, I don’t have Prince Albert in a can. Get your skateboards off my lawn, you punks!