Hey Sweetie? It's me, RAZR

Hey Sweetie? It's me, RAZR - student project

Remember when we first met at the Verizon store? You thought I was the hottest thing around. I was sleek, I was sexy, and you loved showing me off in public. Playing with me made you feel like a business executive or a secret agent. I was the Denise Richards to your Pierce Brosnan. And now I’m down here, under the table at dinner. Your friends put their phones out on the table, face up, showing them off. But whenever you want to play with me you go to the bathroom. I know you are ashamed of me.

If you just need some space, I’m ok with that. When you were at the Dave Matthews concert, I let you enjoy yourself. But your friends’ phones wanted to be right there with them, focused on the stage. They all spent the whole Jimi Thing solo looking at their phone!  If you really want to see him play Crash again, you don’t need your own homemade video. Just go to another concert. You can afford it because I didn’t cost you $500.  

So I can’t take video, so what? I make phone calls, and I do it well. You can text your friends using one hand without even looking! Texting and driving wasn’t dangerous until “smart” phones.  How "smart" is it to text on a touch screen? You have to look at the screen the whole time you are typing, its dangerous! And I hear Karl bragging about his new phone, and how it lasts a whole day. I haven’t been charged in three weeks! I remember when that all used to matter to you.

“Hey Siri, tell me a joke.”  “OK Google, do dogs dream?” Do you know that bitch actually has an answer to that question?!  I’m sorry, are you a canine neuro-fucking-scientist? I won’t try to impress you with my jokes or my metaphysical insights. I just have Snake. Remember when we used to play? We could sit around for hours and just play Snake. And I never asked you to pay any money to make it easier, or to get to new “levels”, because I’m not a gold digger.

What I’m trying to say is this: we’ve been together for 8 years. All your friends keep trading in every couple years for the newer model, and it makes me sick. I’m worried you are about to do the same to me. So no, I won’t tell you a joke, I won’t update your Twitter feed, and if you swipe me with your finger I won’t do anything. But I’ll always be there for you. Drop me, toss me, punt me. I’m not made of glass. I won’t break. Even when you traded in your cargo pants for skinny jeans, I can still fit in your pocket. So take me with you.