My phone recently stopped holding a charge. I knew there was a problem when I could watch the battery icon going down when my phone was charged into a wall socket, but still, I hoped that I wouldn’t have to deal with this problem until later.
The universe intervened, and I woke up to a phone with no power, so I got up and got and went to the Apple Store. I got there early, so I could join the line of the others who were without power–the power of the phone–and were left in line without anything to do but stand there and look around. This puts a new spin on the meaning of powerless, doesn’t it?
So, stand around and look I did, and I thought of all the photos I wasn’t taking and all the comments I wasn’t recording on social media. The length of the line. The blueness of the sky. The comments from two men who were at the Apple store to look for interesting people to talk with about life (no phone, no problem.)
When a super nice Apple employee came to talk to me about my phone problem, he asked me for my phone number so he could text me when it was my turn for phone restoration. Unfortunately, a dead phone receives no text messages (perhaps the 25 will do this in the future), so my new number became “the women with the white shirt and blue jeans.”
What an unfortunate day to wear a white shirt instead of a pink one. If you’re looking for me today, don’t text. Don’t call. Just look for a woman in a white shirt and blue jeans.
I’m sure there’s only one.
Journal if you wish: what would people call you if your cell phone number wasn’t working? Write about the power that a cell phone gives or takes away.