No Phone; I Just Wanna be Alone

The accident happened so quickly—I could barely see it. One moment I’m throwing my phone up in the air in order to make a really funny joke and the next I’m watching in horror as it is slapped with unexpected force onto the hardwood floor. The second it crashed on the ground, the world stood still. I thought my plastic friend was invincible, but I was thoroughly mistaken. Four hours after the accident, when the screen transformed from an informative, colorful collection of words, numbers and pictures to a blank white screen, I realized just how vulnerable the phone really was. I’ve regretted this mistake every day for the past week and a half.

First of all, I should say that my injured cell phone is not totally lifeless. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t thank Korea for the superb craftsmanship and durability of this device. If it were completely dead, I don’t know what I would do with myself. For starters, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning—partly because I’m sad and mostly because my phone doubles as my alarm clock. However, the accident has caused my old phone to regress into a vegetative state, being practically useless. The screen I used to know so well still comes out every once in a while, but I have to fidget with the buttons for an absurdly long time in order to get any kind of display. The device has all the same knowledge—texts, contacts, and pictures—but it no longer has the ability to express them for me.

Each new day is worse than the one before it. Sitting in class, I pull out my phone to check the time, but am greeted by that blank, empty face. My heart sinks. Later, I feel my phone buzz once, indicating one new text message, but when I try to read it, I am again faced with that white screen. My heart breaks. Soon after, my phone buzzes more than once, letting me know that I am receiving a phone call. I pull it out of my pocket, see the ghostly white, and answer with a formal “Hello” because I couldn’t see the caller ID and had no idea who I was talking to. The other person responds with, “Uh, Hi?” because they are so confused as to why I didn’t greet them in a more jovial manner. Then I am forced to explain my phone situation. My heart shatters.

If anything, my vegetative phone is just really inconvenient. Normal phone calls take forever. At first, I thought I could deal with it. You know, I really believed I could still make this relationship work even if my phone was in a coma. Then, last weekend, I was trying to call somebody because I was looking for them, but I couldn’t see my contacts. I obviously haven’t memorized a phone number other than my Mom’s since 2002, so I was left helpless having to ask one of the three people I was with if they could make the phone call for me. It was probably the single most embarrassing moment of my entire life.

That’s why I’m going to pull the battery soon. The phone’s life isn’t worth the pain and annoyance it is causing me. I’m sure that if I could see its display, it would tell me that I was doing the right thing and that it wants me to live a full, happy life. I’m also sure that if my phone were in my position and it had thrown me on the ground for a really funny joke and I were a vegetable a few hours later, it would have pulled my plug a long time ago. That’s the thing about my phone—it was selfless.

That’s why I’m starting a scholarship fund in the memory of my phone: The LG Scoop Scholarship. You must be an LG Scoop to apply for the scholarship of $50 (only $1 after the mail-in rebate). Applications are due April 1st at 5pm.

RIP LG Scoop