Among the many things that I can’t afford, a new iPhone is one of them. So you can imagine my dismay when, while at work the other day, I quickly rolled my chair away from my desk without considering the effect my action would have on the cord spanning the distance from the earbuds embedded in my skull to the headphone jack in my iPhone — that effect, of course, being that the cord immediately went
taught taut, yanked said iPhone off the desk and sent it crashing to the floor.
Being the spectacular shithead that I am, however, it wasn’t the first time I had done this, and on the previous occasions, the device had remained intact and undamaged, so surely I had nothing to worry about, right? Wrong.
The headphone jack didn’t work. The volume buttons didn’t work. The power/lock button didn’t work. The vibrate function didn’t work. I collapsed in a heap on the floor and wept openly.
After finally regaining my composure, I looked into what a replacement iPhone would run me. A short while later, I awoke to see a co-worker standing over me. He said that he had heard me scream “Six hundred and fifty dollars???!!!” just before I fainted.
Faced with the prospect of no longer having a functional iPhone, I knew I had to throw caution to the wind. Desperate times call for desperate measures … and it doesn’t get much more desperate than the thought of spending eight hours per day trapped in a cubicle with no iPhone.
Some people run with the bulls in Pamplona. Others take up skydiving. And then there are those who make the rest of the thrill seekers look like enormous pussies by doing something so unfathomably risky that it boggles the mind.
I TOOK APART MY IPHONE, PEOPLE.
It was touch and go for a while. Getting it open was terrifying enough, but putting it back together? That was downright traumatic. After making numerous failed attempts, I was pretty sure I’d never get it reassembled. Several tech-blog posts and geeky-messageboard threads later, however, I was again the proud owner of a fully functional iPhone. Also? Six hundred and fifty dollars richer. At least, that’s how I’ll justify the next $650-worth of stuff I buy.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go get myself one of those red-white-and-blue Evel Knievel suits. I’m thinking I should be able to score one for about $650, right?