You Know Your iPhone

is old when:

People you don’t remember are listed as contacts;

Dead people from years ago are in it and their names bring back memories;

The bank you’ve been with 20 years will no longer let you access via cell phone;

You can not read texts without better glasses or a magnifying glass (that’s me getting old as well);

You cannot text because everything is too darned small (that’s partly me); and

Dinner guests come over, all place their phones on the coffee table for a pre-dinner drink and hors d’oeuvres all the iPhone 6+s laugh at my antique phone.

It’s a 3. Not a 3G or 3GS. It’s an iPhone 3 that can only last 20 minutes off life support. So what did my husband do on a business trip? Stole my car charger. What happens if I’m stranded in the middle of the desert with a dead, old phone? Yes, I’ll be a dead, old gal and my dog will find her way somewhere to a new home where she’ll be welcomed with open arms.

He did get me a new charger, realizing the implications of his actions. I went to dinner with the other new phone owners and didn’t bring mine along lest it be laughed at. They enjoyed the comment and we had a lovely meal.

Can I keep the phone as an antique? Not a great idea, though I’ve the first 1957 portable Smith-Corona typewriter, a gift from my dear aunt for high school graduation that was the envy of my dorm in college. Market value on eBay is $6 but I lug it across country, waiting for that country cabin where I can place it on my antique English oak desk in front of a window overlooking mountains and really write. Think Ernest Hemingway with snow. That’s if I can still find ribbons.

I lug the typewriter and desk because they have great meaning to me. They both signify independence of a sort. Being on my own at college, buying my first piece of furniture. Dear husband, of course your counsel will be sought but I’d rather an iPhone 6+ and the $20 MacBook (8 years old) battery you sent me last week than an iPad and new laptop. You’re great! And as you see, I’m not a shopper.

The husband and dog come with me everywhere, no lugging involved, some dog hair when I lift the old girl up to her orthopedic bed in my car. She has no hips.

Cars bring me from A to B, safely. I fought against having a cell phone for years until I was caught in the middle of Camp Pendleton for three hours. A day after my car’s 35K checkup ($700) the rear differential broke on the highway. I was on the shoulder with no access to the base and walked to a horrible yellow highway phone box and waited for hours. Of course someone left a wrench or something in the works and the dealer paid to fix their mistake. It cost me a lot of time and a critical client meeting, as Art Garfunkel would say, 99 miles to L.A.

Cell phones keep me in touch with family, friends and get me out of trouble if I’m ever stuck with a flat tire and have to call AAA. I do like the look of the iPhone 6+, dear, and for once would like a new phone, not a hand-me-down. Cheers! Dee

 

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