So my last post was about me losing all of my forms of identification. And the sequel to that story is about my iPhone flying into the toilet. Gross! It was a rough few weeks. So this is the story.
My phone flew into the toilet. I was NOT sitting on the toilet while texting. I swear! What WAS I doing? I had to pee REALLY, REALLY bad, so I ran into my apartment carrying my brand new iPhone 4 (yeah I know that the 5 is coming out soon, annoying), a tote, an oversize clutch—all the while trying to take off my skirt and flip the light switch. So my bathroom isn’t large but it’s not tiny. And there are several places that it could have landed, but it chose my toilet. I use the word “chose” because this was NOT my fault at all. Slippery little sucker. At first I laughed so hard. Upon realizing it was decidedly NOT funny at all, I panicked. My ride to the Hamptons was supposed to arrive within the next five minutes and I hadn’t even packed yet. When he picked me up, I wanted to be like WE NEED TO STOP AT A PHONE STORE IMMEDIATELY OR I WILL ENTER A STATE OF RAGE BLACKOUT HYSTERIA, but instead I was like, “ok cool,” I’ll just swing by the phone store morning. I can live without a phone for one night.” WHAT? I CAN? I DID? HOW? I felt sick and panicked inside—like someone had stolen my child. I don’t have any children, but I’m referencing the mom’s that I’ve seen on Law & Order. They always seem really upset when their kid gets jacked—understandably.
So I go to this upscale AT&T store in the Hamptons and they’re all like, “we’re sorry ma’am. (Ma’am? Do not ma’am me!) “There’s a month long wait list for the iPhone.” I bought what the drug world calls a “burner” phone, which is an untraceable “throwaway” situation. What? I don’t know any drug dealers? Quite the imagination you Lucky readers have…
So my burner is what you’d call an unwelcome throwback to ’95, I was relegated to T9 word. I know it’s been awhile, but think back to your first Nokia. It takes 3 keystrokes to type out the letter “C.” I’m not even kidding. I found myself growing irrationally angry when people would text me things, like “hey.” HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO RESPOND TO THAT? Jerk.
I get back into the city and roll up to Mac Genius Bar. What’s with New York and making “reservations” for everything? You can hardly eat a decent meal in this town without waiting for way too long and promising your first born. Again with the first born thing. I don’t know why, sorry. I bet you’re dying to hear my baby name, but I’ll never tell—fine it’s Maybe. I’m not having one anyways, so it’s all yours. GETTING SIDETRACKED; MY BAD. So I make an appointment for 6 PM (Potentially helpful sidenote: don’t make an appointment at 6 PM because that is when every human being gets out of work and heads straight to the Apple store to fix their iPhones that have fallen into a toilet or a bucket of pedicure water—this happened to me once too—another funny story.) So I check in TWICE. Because there is not one, but two checkpoints that you must go through before you are escorted to the area where you’ll be asked to wait patiently for two hours. But I didn’t even notice or care. I had been sans cell phone for two days—so me in the Apple store was like a fat kid in a candy store that also sells donuts. I was tweeting, texting, and iTunes-ing up a storm. Until, TWO hours later, I realize that I had forgotten my credit card. Having no method of payment and bordering on a meltdown I left Apple SoHo.
I met up with some friends and had even more drinks (I was upset…) And then I met up with this rapper dude that I am sort of, kind of, but not really seeing, but speak to frequently via Gchat. Unfortunately, I’ll have to gloss over what I find to be the best part of the story, but you can use your imagination to find out what happens next.
Now, I’m back at the Genius bar, using my Reece Hudson clutch as a pillow because I was out until 6 AM the night before with “the rapper.” “Sup Genius! I really, really need a new iPhone. I’ll do anything to get a new iPhone. Please tell me what I must do to procure a new iPhone today.” Did I sound desperate? Certainly. And I was. “As long as it didn’t fall in a bucket of water—it shouldn’t be a problem.” “Let’s sayyyyyyy it fell in a bucket of water! It was toilet water, so you might want to grab a rubber glove.” “I’ll hand sanitize,” he says. A genius with a sense of humor! Then this Genius did something unexpected. Unheard of, in fact. He hands me a new mobile device and tells me that he’s going to “hook me up.” I stared back at him blankly and didn’t know whether to hug him or play it cool. I hugged him. A FREE iPHONE? THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN!
But why? The pretty-girl-discount? I’m not even that pretty! The friendly-person-discount? I was too exhausted to be friendly. There’s only one answer that I can think of—the power of the sex glow. It sounds crazy, but I’m positive that at times we give off crazy, intense vibes that everyone around us is drawn to. This sounds like a good time to give a scientific explanation, but I’m just going with “sex glow.” Or try wearing this sexy low-back tank from the Row. That usually works too.
The Row, silk-blend tank, $225, Netaporter.com
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