"The Fascist v. the Faulty," (or) Me and My Cell Phone

This is me.

This is me with my mostly-destroyed "phone."

I dropped it a few days ago, and the face plate popped off and refused to be resecured, despite my best coaxing.

Since then, it seems like every time I turn around (or drop it again?) some new piece unfixes itself: the keypad, the volume button on the side, the strip of plastic over the microphone. The screen followed — I somehow managed to reattach it, but it's still rather fritzy.

Did I mention that sometimes, if I hold the beast just right, my skin completes some circuit and I get a tiny shock to the face? It stings a little bit, but I'm hoping it'll prove to be some weird form of facial (as per here). Hey, as long as it's going to be shocking me, may as well remove a few wrinkles — am I right?

This phone is just the latest in a long line of nemeses I have acquired. Most are electrical gadgets, ranging anywhere from old laptops to older sewing machines. Others are things of which I simply can't keep track (toothbrushes, class notes, keys, and combs being at the top of that list).

I'll admit, a lot of this is my fault. I'm definitely not the gentlest with my belongings.

It's possible that this beastly gadget may have been helped along the road of destruction by my two-year-old niece, who put it through a rack and an iron maiden (and possibly some water-boarding, as well). I can't deny that I allowed her to handle my phone fully knowing the torture she was likely to incur. I also may have dropped it in the snow, lost it on a number of occasions, stepped on it, sat on it, nervously fiddled with it (i.e. pulled it apart), etc.

But I can't officially confirm or deny any of this, of course.

I'm like the tyrannical despot that demands too much out of her citizens, then tramples all over them while living the life of luxury. My belongings are just bound to turn against me eventually.

When I get a replacement, I'm planning to take this "phone" apart, mount each layer side by side, and frame it. You know, as an example to all other subjects thinking of staging a coup. And maybe out of some minor desire for revenge (sweet, sweet revenge).

Maybe some day I actually will lead a luxurious life; then I'll be able to afford things nice enough to be worth taking good care of.

Until then, I'll just keep the bamboo shoots ready and the guillotine well-oiled.