When I get home from work tonight, I get to set up a new phone. For you see, I am, like Daffy Duck, a maroon.
A week ago, I was petting Jones, the neighborhood cat. It was a nice evening, Jones was stretched out in my lap asleep, I was petting him with one hand, holding my phone in the other…
Jones streched. He dug his claws, which are sharpened razors, into my knee. And I dropped the phone. On concrete. There was a loud sound, like something broke hard.
Now, it had a case. I picked it up. The screen was fine. Not cracked. Not even scratched. I breathed a sigh of relief, petted Jones some more, plopped him out of my lap, then went inside.
My phone was not fine at all. The screen was going insane, the Android status bar had turned orange. That usually means the phone needs charging, but the battery had, five minutes earlier, been good…
I was able to shut it off and restart. That seemed to solve the insane screen problems.
Then I discovered that the touchscreen, in many areas, didn’t work.
I thought I’d be able to work around it. But I couldn’t. A lot of the touchscreen doesn’t work. Like, I can’t access the phone app or the messages app, and half the keyboard is inoperative.
It is, essentially, a pretty brick, albeit one with Keith Birdsong’s virgin cover to the 1994 Star Trek novel Federation as its wallpaper.
On Friday, I ordered a replacement phone from Virgin Mobile and a protective case for it from eBay. The case came yesterday, and I just received notification that FedEx dropped the phone off at home.
Tonight, then, I have a phone to configure, apps to download, passwords to key in. sigh
Lesson: do not hold a mobile phone while petting a cat, especially not one with razor sharp claws.