There's been a bit of a disaster in my technological world lately. A few weeks ago, during my un-exciting trip to Boulder, I dropped my cell phone. Now, I've dropped my phone numerous times in parking lots, in meetings, even in the middle of the street once, but apparently the hard floor of the Denver airport sent my little Motorola V180 over the edge.
The hinge in the flipper is broken on one side, so it tends to disengage, cause an unnatural separation between the top and the bottom with a tiny wire umbilical cord remaining to hold the two halves together. So, talking on the phone now takes two hands, a large amount of dexterity and a degree of patience I just don't have.
Upgrade, you say. Well, here is the really sad part. I'm not due to renew my contract until November 5th. So I'm left to either A. suffer with the Siamese twin phone B. pay 5 million dollars for a new phone (or $100 for the Firefly with four buttons) or C. Gamble on a phone via EBay. Regardless, I feel like somehow I've been screwed by the system. My lifeline has been damaged and I'm so despondent about the whole thing that I just keep using the sad little phone and am somehow hoping that it will fix itself.
Sniff.
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