My Phone Broke & Now I Want to Escape

I’m having fantasies about the open road.  I’m day dreaming about open ocean.  It’s the phone’s fault.

I had a Crackberry.  I initially didn’t want one.  I was fine with my old phone.  It made calls.  It took pictures.  It had a calendar. It had three separate alarms plus a “quick alarm” so I was generally guaranteed to get out of bed while morning was still going on.  It could access the web, but it didn’t do it well.  When I wanted to use it, I flipped it open and dialed numbers.

Then I got the Crackberry.  The “smart phone” that only made calls when it felt like it.  The “smart phone” that only had one alarm that went off maybe twice a week — sometimes on weekends — because it did whatever the hell it wanted to do.  The “smart phone” that could access the web, but was often too busy thinking about esoteric technological philosophy to be bothered.  It did not take pictures.  It often wouldn’t bother taking calls — it would alert me later that an “unknown caller” had tried to get through, the “unknown” person always being someone in my address/phone book and often being someone I’d recently called.

Sprint told me it was the fault of the network upgrades, my inbox, the fact that my phone was “old” (even though I’d only had it since December) and sea monkeys.  (Okay, they didn’t blame sea monkeys but that’s only because such foolishness wasn’t in the corporate handbook — although maybe it should be because if you’re going to repeatedly lie to me at least make it creative.)  They managed to not blame it on BP, but maybe that’s because they’re trying to work on a way to tie it to Halliburton or TransOcean (the two everyone seems to have forgotten had a hand in the Gulf Disaster).

At any rate, it’s broken.  Apparently irrepairably so, because things are no longer able to be repaired.

Mini rant: Why is it everything is designed to last only about a half an hour before we’re supposed to throw it away?  Why can’t I have clothes that are designed to be washed?  Why can’t I have phones that can be fixed?  Why can’t I find parts for things I bought six weeks ago?  Why? Why? Why?  Newer isn’t always better — if it were, we wouldn’t constantly need newer, now would we? End rant.

Driving home phoneless, it occurred to me that I’m as “off the grid” as I’m apparently able to get in this day and age without picking up some more Amish-type skills.  I’m not traceable because the GPS is in the phone.  I don’t have On-Star.  Hell, I could get myself some cash and run away to Key West and no one would be able to find me unless I got in the way of Sam Champion looking for tar balls.

The idea has a certain amount of appeal since today was the last day of school for all the teachers (except DJJ sites) in Broward County.  Of course, I’m supposed to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning — nothing locked up kids love more than math during summer vacation.  And I’m out of sick days.  And I’m supposed to be spending the cash on groceries.

The great thing about being part of a generation still capable of using its imagination: I can take my little fantasy road trip in my head.