The Great Text Debate

Do I text or do I wait?













Around 11pm last night, as I was about to reply to a text message, I dropped my phone face first into a thin layer of beverage I had just dumped into the sink.


D'oh!


Tragic. Depressing really. Though not as serious as it could have been, I could hear my cell phone screaming in pain, "Wet is still wet, you idiot, I'm a cell phone!"

I was trying my best not to freak out--trying being the key word in this sentence--but I wasn't doing a very good job.

I'm a texter, a slave to the keys, a crackberry addict, if you will.

If I am in the middle of a conversation and something happens to my phone, I do not hold well. Cell phones that cannot text may as well be kryptonite. My chest tightens, hands clench, and the brain goes a bit nutty as I try to be patient, though I can't help but think, "must...finish...texting..."

At 3am in the morning, this would have been no big deal since nobody I know is awake and willing to chat with me off and on, but no, not this time. This time, it was early and it was quietly creepy at work, and I was mid-text.

Since the Average Joe does not work a graveyard shift, especially one that allows the possibility of cell phone usage between chores, I am usually ok with finding other things to occupy my time as there is always something I can find to clean at work.

But this was not the Average Joe I was texting. This was the sweet, distracting, boyfriend who lives over 400 miles away attempting to help keep me awake, and, as I'd just been informed, he wasn't sleepy yet.

But there I was, 30 minutes from completion of all my chores. I'd finally be finished before midnight and have a chance to have a nice text chat with the boyfriend at a decent hour, all finished until it would be time to take notes before morning crew would arrive almost 5 hours later.

I wiped it down as quickly as possible, popped the battery out and set it aside until I was done in order to let it dry. "It's not that bad," I told myself. "It'll be dry in no time."

I knew I was going to have a problem keeping distracted when I kept catching myself look over to it and silently apologizing. We've had worse scares before in our 10 months together, we can get through this. It hadn't appeared to have much dampness, so I figured a half hour would do the trick.

Around 11:30pm, I sat down at the table to stare at my phone. The moral dilemma set in--am I in denial? Do I attempt a text or pretend to be a normal human being and continue to let it dry so I do not cause further damage?

Do I text or do I wait?

I'm going to wait, I decided...for about 30 seconds...before I hit the power button.

Power on--whew.

Open messaging--sweet...

Type text message--yay!

Send text message--woo hoo!

I was totally stoked and overjoyed. I got a reply and went back in to type a message.

Suddenly--

aaaaaaaaaaaaaa8888888a8a8a8a8aaaaa888aaaaa88888888a8a8a8a8aaaaaaaa......



A few resets, another drying session, and several mangled texts later to inform the boyfriend of such a tragic event, I did what I could to come to terms with the inevitable truth: I broked it.

Damn. Should've waited.

Goodbye Motorola Q, you will be missed. I'm glad you are not dead and you will still see me on occasion when I need you as my music player, but since 4 of your keys no longer function properly, I think it's time you retired from phone service before I accidentally flush you down a toilet.