Everyone seems to have an awesome story or two about cell phones getting destroyed at parties. I've heard tales about them getting thrown into pools, flushed down toilets, dropped into cakes, and pretty much everything else. They make great "embarrassing tales of the digital age" stories. And it's even better when they happened to your friends, not you. Like this one, about my friend Cliff and his dear departed Razr.
It was my roommate's birthday this weekend, and our former college buddy Cliff (think Bluto Blutarsky, except 6 feet 7 inches tall) had driven up to our place in Manhattan all the way from Washington, D.C., for our Saturday night celebration. As a result, he had made plans to crash in our living room--a feat of courage, considering the party had left our apartment strewn with confetti, streamers, pink cupcake frosting, potato chips, and empty cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Anyway, when I woke up on Sunday morning and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee, I noticed that there was a completely destroyed Motorola Razr cell phone sitting on our stove next to an empty wine glass. Assuming that some poor soul had accidentally broken the phone and then left the party without it, I left it there and figured I'd clean it up once I had some coffee in the system.
Shortly afterward, Cliff woke up and remarked that his cell phone was missing. I sort of cringed and asked him if it was a Razr. He said, "Yeah. Why?" I took him over to the stove to show him. Naturally, he had no idea how it had gotten into the state that it was in.
But all hope was not lost. Cliff picked up the maimed Razr, looked it over, and retrieved his Cingular card from the back of the phone. "At least I got my SIM card back," he said.
I replied, "Don't worry, Cliff, Razrs are outdated anyway. Now you can get a Krzr."
He said, "Actually, I think I want an iPhone."
Something tells me that's not such a good idea.