AJC > Sandy Springs > Blog > Archives > 2006 > January > 17
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
When you put your cell phone in the wash, can you call home again?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Thomas Wolfe said we can’t go home.
F. Scott Fitzgerald told us there are no second acts in American life.
And you never get a second chance to make a first impression.
I am happy to report, however, not all situations are so hopeless. For example, I’ve found out that a cell phone can take a swim in the washing machine and be brought back to life.
The small things in my life work best when I do certain things the exact same way every day. Like, if I put my keys and wallet in the red leather box atop my cigar humidor every night and I never have to turn the house inside out at 5:15 in the morning, trying to leave for work.
And if I place my cell phone in the same place in the car while motoring from one place to another, I remember to bring it into the house and plug it into the charger, where it will be waiting for me in the morning.
A couple of days before Christmas I broke my routine. Coming home from a Hawks game I left the phone in my pocket. Out of my routine, I walked past the charger, dropped off my wallet and keys, and threw my slacks into the laundry.
The next day - no phone. I checked to see if it spent the night with the wallet - no phone. I searched the car - no phone. I called myself from the land line while walking through the house, listening for the ring - no phone.
I then got that creeping sick feeling one gets when you start to realize you’ve really screwed up. It starts small and grows like bacteria in your psyche. Surely, I didn’t leave it in my slacks, which were now swimming in warm water and Tide.
There are few sensations as helpless and gut-wrenching as reaching into a tub of soapy water and having your fingers find what you know to be your cell phone.
I pulled it out and water ran out of it like cars you see pulled out of the lake on C.S.I.
Needless to say it was no longer working.
I stood there with water running on to my shoes and I may have said three or four curse words, possibly more. I felt briefly like Patrick Swayze did in “Ghost,â€? where he comes to terms with the fact that he’s really dead, but not wanting to believe it.
The first thing I did was call my provider, hoping I’d bought the insurance that covers loss, theft, defects and epic stupidity. I had not, and to her credit the operator taking my call did not laugh when I told her what happened.
I went to the store and found out the phone that had been FREE!!!! when I signed up was going to cost $175.00 to replace - a pretty big chunk of change right at Christmas. While I stood there the little sucker briefly came to life - buzzing in my hand and dripping a few more drops.
I went home to ponder my next move. I was defeated and shamed - a man without his phone. Forget about not being about to go home again - I couldn’t phone home.
Then the hard reality hit. Much of my life was in that phone. My ringtones. Pictures of the kids. And most importantly (sorry kids), my phone numbers. All 110 contacts gone forever. Drowned like Leonardo DiCaprio in “Titanic,â€? though by the end of that movie I was rooting for ol’ Leo to sink like a stone.
I had lost my mobile link to mankind, not to mention some appointments, and some phone numbers that would be very hard to replace.
It began to sink in how much I had come to depend on having my little cellular friend. I was one of those people who had essentially transitioned from land line to wireless. I would no more leave home without it than I would walk out with only one shoe.
I didn’t just want my phone back - I needed it.
Then - a glimmer of hope. A friend suggested the following, which I’m sure is not sanctioned, endorsed or recommended by those who make cell phones - and want to sell new ones to morons like me — but desperate times call for desperate measures:
I removed the battery and SIM chip and placed the phone in the oven at 150 degrees for three hours. That is enough heat to dry the moisture out of the phone, without melting anything, I was told. And if it did melt anything, how much worse off could I be?
It was a little like giving a dying goat a pair of tap shoes - couldn’t hurt. Happily, the phone baked nicely and now is behaving just fine. The damage to my ego is also healing. But questions linger:
What does it say about modern society that such small device can hold one hostage?
Should one be so tethered to such gadgetry?
Is this the dawning of a new age in communications or the beginning of the end?
Too much for a guy who washes his cell phone to answer. But at least I can call smarter people and find out.
