If There’s a Worse Feeling Than a Broken Phone, I Don’t Know It

I’ve lived a pretty charmed life. The worst thing that’s ever happened to me was the time I sneezed while eating oatmeal. *Shudder*

But over the holidays I learned what true pain is because I dropped my brand new smart phone and watched the life wink out of it. Forever.

My last phone survived a fall from my pocket while I was biking at speed without a single scratch, but my 2nd Gen Moto X couldn’t hold up to the riggers of a modern living room. They don’t advertise this, but apparently it’s entirely held together by gossamer threads of silk and a child’s laughter. A mere three weeks after buying it, it fell two feet and the display imploded. On Christmas no less, because Santa Claus giveth and he taketh away.

It’s been a tragic week since it happened. I missed numerous photo ops on Christmas including dog-opens-present-before-his-turn and baby-has-bow-on-head; I have no idea how many steps I’ve taken without my tracking app—I could be stuck in a hole or I could have finished a marathon, I just don’t know; and when I watched a movie I was repeatedly told to put my phone on silent but all I could think about was how phone had already been silenced. Permanently.

And despite what the technophobes around you will say, I assure you if your phone breaks you won’t spend more time interacting with people. You’ll be too busy missing your phone.

Tech support at Motorola was worse than useless. I was told, “The more expensive the phone, the more fragile it is.” While I appreciate the honesty, that is INSANE. You are basically required to put a hideous $2 case on a beautifully designed $700 product unless you want it to have the lifespan of a monarch butterfly. But that’s what I’ll have to do. I used to think “better to have loved and lost than to have used a cell phone case” but that was because I’d never lost. Turns out it sucks.