I am not one to mess with technology, mainly because I’m not one to know how to fix whatever I’ve managed to mess up. Unfortunately for me, I was forced to face my fears when my cell phone was involved in a Blue Moon attack. (And, for the record, it was NOT my fault. You can’t put a tall glass in front of an Italian. We are hand-talkers by nature and that can’t be stopped.)
After the spill my phone, which refused to do anything, spent the night drying out. The next morning everything on it was working properly…everything except for my “9” key. I tried in vain to get it working again but after a few days it was apparent that my “9” needed a “911” call, which sadly, I couldn’t make on my own phone.
Car-less on campus, I waited until Boo had some time to drive me out to have a technician take a look. Lazy State College employee that he was, he listened to my sob story and told me there was nothing he could do–all this without actually seeing the phone.
Frustrated, I was left with no choice but to wait until I got home and call on the persuasive powers of Daddy to convince the techs to take a look. I spent a few weeks texting things like “Can’t ait to see u. Hope ur having a good da at ork.” Thankfully, most people figured out that I had lost my “9.” The rest, well, it was senior week, so they just thought I was drunk.
Finally today, a month to the day from the B.M.A., I went in for round 2 with tech support. I said nothing beyond “my ‘9’ stopped working” and then handed him the phone. He took a look, said, “we can replace it for $80.” Really? Really? It was THAT simple? All this time, and it was THAT simple? Well, who’da thunk it?