Oh, beloved iPhone. My precious connection to all things Internet in awkward situations; the handler of all my music—my true pride and joy. I decorate you in cute little cases, change your glass color and take great selfies with your incredible camera. You do it all.
But, how delicate you are!
I’m going to take the moment to cut the praises of this little device because this little thing is so ridiculously delicate. Let me say it again: DELICATE. D.E.L.I.C.A.T.E.: DELICATE.
You have not experienced true horror until you drop your phone facedown. That noise coming from the ground is much different than the other times you dropped your phone. You look to the skies, begging that the glass screen is intact. You know better. That noise—that one was a bad one. You feel like someone has kicked you in the chest; your head feeling a bit light. You crouch to the ground to pick up your little baby and you’re overcome with nervousness and fear.
Stage One: Apprehension
You seem frozen in place—your knees bent on the cold tile floor. Your hand is currently shaped to have a phone in it, but your baby is lying (“…on the cold hard ground / Oh!”) glass screen down. You hesitate picking up your iPhone, nervous to see what lies on the other side. You remain crouched on the ground, staring helplessly at the little piece of technology, unsure of how much time has passed.
You pick it up.
It is cracked—your heart follows suit.
Stage Two: Denial
The spidery cracks in the glass are deep. There are visible pockets in the screen where glass is supposed to be. You press the Home button, ensuring that the screen still functions. With a sigh of relief, it lights up. You squint at the time and date on the lock screen, trying to make heads or tails of the text. You discover that if you look at it with no light and from a certain angle, it’s totally fine!
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.
You brush off the straggling glass shards with a tissue, rubbing the screen on your jeans. You go to send a text message and end up with microscopic glass shards in your fingers. It’s fine—this is how the phone is supposed to work. Pain builds character, right?
Stage Three: Panic
“Oh, GOD!” you cry to yourself, staring at your baby. You let out a bloodcurdling scream, leading to your neighbors knocking on your door, wondering if you’re all right. You barely pull the door open—your CHILD is INJURED. You have no time for his or her lollygagging.
You run to your computer, checking your bank account for extra funds to repair your baby. There are none. You look back at your phone who looks like it’s barely holding on. You begin to sweat. Do you prepare a funeral? Do you invite Apple to said funeral? Do you need to go to counseling to deal with this trauma? Who do you call? Can you call someone?
Your cheek rejects this notion as there are now several little glass splinters hanging off of your face.
Stage Four: Fury
How could you be so stupid to drop your iPhone! It was safely sitting on your desk and you had to stupidly reach for a pencil for the work you were doing! Did you really need that pencil? There was a pen right next to your laptop. Why couldn’t you do the work in a Word Document? You’re an idiot. Your iPhone screen is cracked to all hell because of your carelessness.
The thing is barely holding on for dear life and there is nothing you can do about it. What kind of owner are you?!
Stage Five: Sadness
Everyone you meet will learn about how you shattered your iPhone screen. The light in your eyes is fading; you haven’t smiled in days. Every time you look at your cracked iPhone, your heart sinks lower into your stomach. The only thing exiting your mouth is a perpetual sigh.
Your heart stops beating as you look at replacement costs. Your bank account is going to take a major hit. Your iPhone cannot continue to live like this. You can’t live like this. You must give the iPhone screen the proper burial it deserves.
Stage Six: Reluctant Acceptance
100 plus dollars and several trips to the mall later, your iPhone screen has been replaced and it looks as good as new. You look at yourself in its pristine perfection and breathe a sigh of relief, but you do not smile. It is only a matter of time before you endure this horror once again. Will anything ever be the same?
Your bank account, however, is now cracked, broken and struggling to live. You shrug your shoulders and move on.
[Lead image via computerrepairdoctor.com]