Death of a Cellsman

So before heading out the door to go to work this afternoon, I switched my trusty Nokia 3200 to silent mode and slipped it into my pocket, just as I usually do. A few hours later, during a rare lull in macchiatos, I took it out to check for messages (because I'm popular) and what have I discovered? It's dead. No life. Nary a digital twitch or phosphorescent glimmer to be seen.

Having just charged it, I was instantly suspicious. Had it been hacked bluetoothily by some ne'er-do-well in the cafe? Hmm, probably not. Had I somehow damaged it while it was "secure" in my pocket? Possibly, but difficult to be sure. I decided that it must be just dead, for no reason, struck down by a callous (cellphone) god, indifferent to my noki's interchangeable faceplates and oh-so-handy flashlight feature.

I mourned. I panicked. And then I checked the lost and found and discovered a treasure trove of discarded phones to run some trial and error tests with. After countless tests and exhaustive research, my phone's cause of death was determined to be the little piece that I could hear rattling around when I shook it. Like a blood clot that had broken loose, that piece made its way inexorably to my phone's heart. There was nothing anybody could have done.

The circle of (cellphone) life, however, goes on. One of the lost and found phones was a clunky, chunky old Nokia 3560 that used the same charger. A quick swap of the SIM card later and I was back in business with the same phone number, only minus all of my contacts and fun pictures. So, the moral of the story is, call, text, or email me your damn phone numbers.

P.S. I was looking for an excuse to switch to TMobile anyway, thanks capricious (cellphone) god!