For Whom the Cell Tolls

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone... Boy, ain't that the truth. Middle Son and I have been sharing my cell phone for some time now, with the understanding that if he ever damaged or destroyed it while it was in his custody, he would be responsible for replacing it. Of course he willingly agreed to this because he is a teenager and considers himself and everything in his possession to be indestructible - LOL Such is not the case. Last week, while said phone was in said son's trusteeship, (gawd bless Thesaurus LOL) he had a lil' boo-boo. At some point in his adventures, he and said phone did meet heretofore unmentioned hard surface (possibly floor, driveway or bowling alley lane, (said son's memory is weak on this particular detail), shattering said phone into said broken mess. A replacement as per said agreement was then in order. More was said, but is unprintable LOL "Replacement" sounds so simple. I snort huffily at "simple". "Simple" implies going to a nearby retail outlet, handing over the broken phone, and getting a new one handed to oneself with a cheery smile. At least we eventually got the cheery smile. {{Waves to most-magnificent "L", the superior customer service representative who handled our incredibly complex procedure.}} My first recourse had been to contact Eldest Son, the purveyor of fine electronic products at reasonable prices, who had handled our initial purchase and contract for cellular service. Sadly, he is unable to offer assistance, as merger of Husband's telecommunications company (and employer) with another telecommunications company, has throw all of the old rules up in the air like so much confetti.

Representatives at telecom company expressed their regret and sympathy that Eldest Son was no longer able handle such procedures, they must be transacted at the mothership...errr...World Headquarters, which is approximately the same distance from our home as Brazil.

So for several days, until jaunt could be arranged. I was cell-less.

I hadn't realized my addiction to it, until it wasn't there.

I missed it. I longed for it. I held its broken parts in my hands and cursed Fate (and in very bad-mommy fashion, the perpetrator).

At last we sallied forth and traveled to the holy land (World Headquarters). We explained the situation, with said boy and his soon-to-be-depleted savings in tow.

The procedure was complex. Husband's phone would become my phone, he and son would get new phones. My old number would activate to husband's old phone, husband's old number would activate to his new phone, and son would get new phone and number. Old/broken phone contacts would be transferred, switched and given liposuction in an extreme makeover that would bedevil the gods.

Throughout it all, most-magnificent "L" was cheerful and efficient. She managed the confusing maze of changes, upgrades, rebates, transfers and purchases with such aplomb as to make mortal men weep. She smiled encouragingly, and gently accepted the payment from the trembling fingers of Middle Son, who loves the feel of cash in his hands only slightly less than life itself.

He is recovering nicely though, as the joy of having his own phone to have and to hold (and to text message his friends) increases, shoving the painful memory of the cash transaction into a dimly-lit memory spot, much the way mothers do with childbirth.

And I have a phonie all my ownie now too.

Ah, the simple pleasures.