Ode to my Flip Phone



I never wanted a cell phone, but you were pathetic enough to avoid my techno-shame.

My wife made me get you so I would be there for our son’s birth.

Apparently she thought it was important for me to be present (So needy…)

You took the first grainy photo of my son (even though it looked more like a mutated naked mole rat).


But you did so much more than alert me to the birth of my offspring.

You dropped calls when the conversation was no longer interesting (How did you always know?)

You woke me up with Jamaican dance music every morning—well, most mornings.

And when I wanted to text, you made me put in the extra effort by forcing me to press the 7 like, nine, times to get to the S (Seriously, why is one of the most used letters so far back in the order?).


But then something happened; you changed.

You erased my photos without asking.

You slept in long after I was supposed to be awake (Jamaican dance music playing only in my dreams).

You made it sound like I was calling people from inside a plastic bag—in Zimbabwe.


I expected you to be pathetic, but not that pathetic. You crossed the line, my friend.

Alas, it was time to part ways.

So long, my loyal flip phone.

May you drop The Almighty’s calls for all eternity in the giant cell phone dump in the sky.



~ by themoderntranscendentalist on September 15, 2013.

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