Grossly Negligent Operation of a Smart Phone

Cell phones are nifty little gadgets that we as first-world citizens cannot really live without anymore. I am certainly guilty of this. Probably even more so than others.

And guess what? I have what is referred to as a “smart” phone. Brilliant. Perfect. The problem is, my really smart phone doesn’t understand when I’m not so smart. (You know, like basically when I’m drunk.) I would imagine yours doesn’t either. That is if you’ve even made it into the space age and actually have one of these handy contraptions that you can update your Facebook status on, tweet a one-liner from, google whether spiders shit or not while you’re waiting for your orthodontist appointment, listen to every song you own in your car stereo, pinpoint your ex-boyfriend’s house using Google Earth, get directions to the closest shoe store, take a picture of your breasts, text that picture of your breasts to some undeserving fool, video message your friend naked, check Craig’s List’s ‘Missed Connections’ for one that is with you, pay your car insurance bill, deposit your paycheck, immediately followed by buying 14 shades of eye shadow, play a knock-off Scrabble game, pin a recipe to your “yum, yum in my tummy” board on Pinterest, ask the robot (you call her Siri)  in the phone if you should bang a particular dude, check the time in Bangladesh, watch a TED video on bumblebees being smarter than humans, Youtube how to open a bottle of wine without a corkscrew, look up the definition of the word ‘howdah,’ Shazam the name of a song you’ve never heard but probably want to hear again, see what your daily dose of destiny horoscope had in store for you that never happened, and then maybe -but probably not- call someone.

What you just read is a typical 60 minutes of me using my smarty-pants cell, and it doesn’t stop there. The amount of things we can do from our little handheld device is astronomical and probably unnecessary, but whatever, we’re going to do them anyway.

But, my phone is kind of stupid sometimes. And yours is, too. Don’t let it fool you. Sure it can google image Eminem’s daughter all the live long day (she looks good, p.s. I’m old.) but it canNOT tell you when you shouldn’t text an a-hole, call your land lord at 3 AM, or remind you to feed the dog. (Well, it can tell you all of those things if you tell it to remind you… whatever.)

My point is, fellow world wide web surfers, you will eventually do something on your cell phone that you have no choice but to say “my god, I am an idiot.”

And you’ll be reminded your phone is not so smart. And neither are you.

In an attempt to make you feel 100% better about your own relationship with your phone, I figured I’d run over the dumbest accidents/things ever that happened via my really-smart-but-dumb phone … You’ll probably hug yourself and your phone to sleep tonight.

1) Last week I got drunk. I sat -earphones budded in my ears pumping hateful metal- and in a blur of red wine and lyrics that were written by Satan- I came to the conclusion that I hated 79% of my phone contacts. So I started deleting them. Much in the same way I started deleting Facebook friends (you can read more about that here), I just started deleting phone contacts. I was pissed. Everyone sucked suddenly, and what was my solution? Erase their phone number from my brainy portable telephone. I sure showed them. I just started deleting every contact in my phone. I had like 14 contacts left.

Problem? Two hours later -still drunk- I realized, maybe I don’t hate everyone as much as I thought and went to drunk text someone– they were gone. Everyone was gone. Although considering the amount of alcohol that was coursing through my veins, this was probably a blessing, but it felt at that moment a complete crap shoot. I went into my texts conversations and there were no names, just unrecognizable numbers. I was fucked. Who were all of these people I had texted? So I started texting random numbers “who is this?” Eventually after sending that to like five people, I got bored, and went to bed.

When I awoke the next morning, my mind began that evermore exhausting process of trying to decipher the blurs of what actually happened from what I dreamt– no, I did not make out with a dude while loitering in a gas station parking lot that was being robbed by monkeys, but I did delete all my phone contacts. That was fucking dumb, Becki, I thought out loud. Way to go. Thanks for stopping me, cellular demonic device.

I eventually plugged my phone back into iTunes and rebooted most of the numbers, but that didn’t curb the rolling of my eyes and the utter resentment of my dumb, smart-phone actions.

2) I went for a job interview a little over a year and a half ago. (Yes, this is as good as you think it will be.) It was not too long before I started the Sushi Bar and I was looking to get out of working nights. (You can read a bit more here.) This was a straight-up 9-5 job -waitressing but still normal hours- and my biggest issue forever has been working nights. So I had an interview and I was relatively excited– as much as someone could be for a waitressing job. I showed up looking dapper and everything was a-okay.

It wasn’t until the woman talking to me suggested that I plug her number into my phone, that an issue arrived. Not thinking anything of it, I pulled out my phone, and I slid the bar to unlock my smart device. Well, my phone forgot to tell me that the last thing I had been doing on it was watching porn.

I soundtracked the whole of the restaurant with a woman’s deep moans and filthy talk.

And then I couldn’t get my phone to shut off. My (not-so) smart phone thought it best that we go through the whole video and let everyone, including the woman wondering if I was worthy to work for her, hear every depraved and disgusting thing I got off to an hour earlier. As coffees were refilled and eggs were scrambled, my phone echoed the chorus of orgasm that is typically sung behind closed doors. Once I realized my phone wasn’t going to shut off until it was done, I had no choice but to just smile and let it play out. It wasn’t pretty.

Needless to say, I didn’t get a call back. (Which is fine because I ended up taking the Soosh job and now I go in and show them the porn I had been watching.) The worst part? This actually happened to me again a few months later… in another diner. My boyfriend and I were in Rhode Island for a wedding and he was going to use my phone to get directions for coming home. Unfamiliar with the whole app system he clicked on the Safari icon, which looks like a little disguised map. Guess what the last thing I had been using the browser for was? Yep, once again my phone started echoing inappropriate sounds and talk, this time while the waitress asked us what we wanted to drink, and once again– my stupid phone wouldn’t just shut off. I was forced to shove the phone in between my legs and muffle the sounds as much as possible as my boyfriend and I casually ordered coffee and orange juice.

3) My cell phone does not play well with dads, particularly mine. Generally speaking, my phone is attached to me in some way: in my pocket, purse, hand, etc., but when at a family gathering I tend to think of it a little less. I may leave it on the coffee table, the counter, the bathroom sink or wherever and pay it little mind.

One evening, I was at my dad’s house having dinner with him– just he and I. My cell was sitting on the dining room table and I thought little of that as I went to relieve myself in the restroom. As I was washing my hands to return to dinner, I heard my father shout– “Rebekah Elizabeth! Are you a dyke?!” 

My stomach dropped as I pulled my hands from the luke warm water and raised them to cover the O my mouth was forming. There was only one possible explanation; he was looking through my camera roll which was littered with naked pictures… of me. I stood absolutely still listening to the current silence that came from the other side of the bathroom door, attempted to regain composure, and mentally prepared myself to handle this very delicate situation. I had one of three options: 1) confess that my father was looking at naked pictures of his daughter or 2) just say I was a lesbian and avoid the awkwardness that the latter would create or 3) get really defensive and throw a fit about lack of privacy.

Obviously, I threw a fit. I stormed out and threw up my arms and waved them around in a show of pretend disbelief and in an attempt to distract him from the handheld device he grasped in his hands. I kicked the wall and shouted things like “This is like the time you read my diary in high school!” I did such a good job creating a stir, that it wasn’t 15 minutes later that the whole incident was forgotten and we were back to arguing politics over chicken parm.  Phew.

4) Nowadays, our phones are so smart, they can read minds. It’s called autocorrect. If you’re misspelling a word? No big deal. Your phone’s got you. And autocorrect has this tricky feature where it actually starts to learn how you typically type. Sweet. But go figure, my autocorrect thinks I’m a total slut. Contrary to popular belief though, sometimes I want to write some pretty basic unslutty shit. You know, like let’s rejoice or let’s talk tomorrow.

And I gotta give it to my phone– occasionally it’s autocorrecting is just downright clever, but sometimes no, it’s not. Much to my dismay, my autocorrect is now a comedian, a very slutty comedian.

Every time I write “let’s,” my whoring autocorrect changes it to “let’s fuck.”

Why? I don’t know, but a week or two ago when I was texting a person about meeting in regards to work (not waitressing– like important work), my phone decided to change my original text that was “let’s talk tomorrow” to “let’s fuck talk tomorrow.” Logical. Oh, and very professional. Who doesn’t like a good fuck talk now and again out on the job?

My face beat red and my hands started to tremble. Anxiety spread from limb to other trembling limb as I waited for the person’s response and when it did come, it put my worried mind to rest: “why wait til tomorrow? how about today? ha” 

Luckily for me, he was able to see that it was a mistake on my end, and take it lightly. That’s not to say that when I did eventually meet to talk with this person, my face didn’t turn a deep shade of scarlet and his face didn’t wear a smirk the whole damn time.

More or less, my cell and I have a love/hate relationship and mainly because we’re both pranksters. I once dropped my cell phone in a seedy basement bar’s toilet and sent it tumbling when I thought the ice-covered hill was a faster route to take than the sidewalk and I yell at it all the time. So I guess we’re even now.

But if you can take anything from this– heed my advice:

- Don’t operate your cell phone drunk. Ever.

- Always clear the browser when finished with anything pornographic.

- Always proofread and check the recipient of a message before you send it.

- And maybe you should put a lock on your phone– like a vault. Or a treasure chest.

(If you’ve got a better one– share it with me, please. I love this shit.)

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