To All the Phones I've Loved Before

To celebrate the recent acquisition of a new cell phone, I would like to look back at the phones I have known and loved.

My first cell phone was a Christmas present in 1996. It lived in my glove compartment and was never turned on. To use its car adapter, I had to pop the battery off the back and replace it with another one that had a cord I could plug into the power outlet of my car (although in 1996, I probably would have called it the cigarette lighter). This phone’s primary purpose was for roadside emergencies. There were mornings, however, when I’d have to call and wake up my student teaching partner/carpool buddy from the parking lot of his fraternity house. As quickly as I could I’d say, “Chris, wake up. I’m going to the caf to get a bagel, I’ll be back in five minutes.” I had to be quick because I was roaming and that call would cost $2.50.

When I came back to Philadelphia and got my first big-girl job, I also got a new phone. It was a huge improvement. No longer did I have a cell phone the size of a brick. My new phone also boasted a little display screen that made caller ID possible. Its other great feature, I could change the banner from “Sprint PCS” to “Joy Lindros.” That phone started a lot of conversations, but alas, it could only get service in digital areas. Once I left the greater Philadelphia area, my little phone would search for service and eventually, give up, and slip off into power save.

Since I was traveling to central Pennsylvania a lot in those days, it was necessary for me to get a dual-band phone that could work in digital areas and roam on analog networks: enter phone #3. My third phone was a beauty. First of all, it was blue! It had a multitude of ring tones that I could assign to different callers. My brother, Take Me Out to the Ballgame. My dad, Ride of the Valkyries. I could even record my own ringtones. By holding the phone next to the speaker of my stereo, I was able to produce my own Margaritaville ringtone! I truly loved this phone. Even though it was held together by packaging tape, this is the phone that made the move to North Carolina with me. But the poor phone was old and tired. Sprint wanted me to buy a new phone, but they offered no free replacements for a phone that was at least 4 years old. So when I bought my house and could not get Sprint service in the living room, I moved on from my old provider and my old phone.

My next phone had a color display. I could choose a background picture (an orangutan hanging from a branch) and receive text messages. This phone could download ringtones. At first, there was the MIDI rendition of Brown Eyed Girl, but as technology came along I was able to add several others. This phone had a hands-free headset, very helpful when I was down the shore after New Jersey passed its no-phone-in-the-car law. After two years, Verizon told me I could have a new phone free of charge and I leapt at the chance to keep up with the latest and greatest.

And so I got a pink razr phone, or as it is more commonly known, The Pink Piece of Crap. One summer day I went walking and tucked my phone under one bra strap and my iPod under the other. My phone completely freaked out. When I took it to the Verizon store, the man told me it had water damage. “Why,” I asked, “is it made of sugar?” His solution was that I pay $50 to replace it. A lengthy debate followed during which I challenged the logic of paying $50 to replace something I hadn’t paid for in the first place and during which he summoned his manager for back-up. I questioned Verizon giving out phones that were so easily damaged that they could be rendered useless in less than three months. He kept going back to the $50 thing and finally I gave my infamous speech, “What if I don’t want this phone again? What if I think it’s a pink piece of crap—because it is a pink piece of crap—and I want to go back to my old phone?” He haughtily replied, “Well, you would need your old phone.” I smoothly placed it on the counter. $20 later, the orangutan was back, but there is still a happy ending for the pink piece of crap. This fall, when the orangutan phone was showing signs of age and it wasn’t time for me to get a new phone yet, I charged up the now-dry pink of piece of crap and went back to it for a few months. In fact, we were so happy together, I didn’t even replace it as soon as my two years were up.

As of this week, though, I have a new phone. It is a lot more phone than I can handle. Turns out, just because your phone can get Facebook on it, doesn’t mean it’s free. I enjoy the convenience of a keyboard for texting, but it is a strange new phone. Hopefully our relationship will grow to be a good one, because writing this has shown me that, as I journey through life, my phones are always along for the ride.