It’s a new year and I am phoneless. Last weekend my phone’s annoying alerts were reduced to a guttural groan and then silence. Life has its stumbling blocks, call them bumps in the road. I will not resort to saying, “Blanketly, blank, blank, blank.” Before giving me the silent treatment, I couldn’t get my phone to stop talking to me, so I stuffed it in a drawer. Did I scream, “Shut up” before slamming the drawer? Not me, I would never do that. Retrieving my phone from a cocoon of sweaters, I pushed buttons to no avail. I tried sweetly coaxing, but nothing worked. It was time to go to the experts at the phone retail shop.
My phone is a budget phone. Because it is a budget phone, I cannot find a store in a neighborhood I would call friendly or safe. I will drive eight miles and into The Danger Zone. Fortunately, in this town the danger zone is not too dangerous, but it is out of my comfort zone. My comfort zone is a two-mile square adjacent to a snow-bird Amish neighborhood. The specialty is pies, not crime.
Clutching my barely breathing phone, I drove past Main Street and into the neighborhood where a friend’s son was robbed. The assailant jumped into a dumpster to hide. Not thinking clearly, he poked his head up and waved.
The phone shop shares a strip mall with a pawn shop, a tattoo parlor and a small café with a sign that reads: Eat to Live. Live to Ride. Motorcycles are everywhere. There is a Help Wanted sign in the window. Help is wanted, not because they are busy but because no one wants to work there. The counter is set way in the back and the store is empty. The absence of customers is not surprising but there are also no products on display.
As I approach the door, “What’s this?” Do I see someone pulling the shade and placing CLOSED in the window? But fellas it’s me. Remember me? I’m the Grammy who needed all apps turned on, a week later I needed all apps turned off." Smiling, I ignore the sign and walk the long, lonely walk from the front door to the counter. A woman is there. She tests my phone and declares it to be DOA.
I am not attached to my phone; I don’t love it. I bumble along like a dummy because I am not giving technology the effort it deserves. I am busy. Will I replace my dead phone? The answer is “Yes.” I will return to The Danger Zone to purchase a new product that will enable me to connect with the world and be a twenty-first century grammy who can Skype, Zoom and watch podcasts. New Year – new phone – new attitude. Can I find a new store?
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