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The Human Emotional Cycle of Losing an iPhone

ma cherie amour #iPhone

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Oh my gah! My iPhone has officially died. I have no way to contact anyone. I search for any spare phone, and grab an old Nokia 3310. I throw it to the ground. It survives. I search the World Wide Web for any information on how to resuscitate my battery, but fail to find anything useful. Is there anyone out there? Somebody save me.


I head to the nearest Power Mac Center and wait in line. What’s wrong with your iMac? At least you still have a phone? What’s your highest score on Dots? I harass my fellow Apple-bruised. The Mac genius tells me it’ll take 72 hours to replace my battery. I tear up a bit. My breathing goes heavy. SEVENTY TWO HOURS. I-I-I don’t, I mean, how am I gonna talk to anyone? She points to my Nokia.


No 3G, no 2048, no Snapchat, no Instagram, no Kim Kardashian: Hollywood. My virtual self has died. Are the Apple gods mad at me because I told my friend her Samsung Galaxy looked cool the other day? I go out with my friends. During dinner, everyone is either taking pics of our food, tweeting or taking selfies, I’m busy playing Snake. My Nokia depresses me. I lock myself in for the next 48 hours.


I wake up with the ringing of my Nokia alarm and line up at the Mac center. It’s 7 AM. I finally receive my newly equipped iPhone in a snug white-bubbled envelope. I hug the Mac genius. You are amazing. Have a great day everyone. The line consists of like 2 other people. I walk out of the store and take a selfie. #Reunited


I promise never to abuse my phone again. I check my Facebook updates, respond to day-old messages, do a photo shoot, and play a game of Temple Run. My fingers feel numb. A happy numb. Let’s never be apart. I fall asleep beside my phone.

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