Maybe I’m making this harder than it has to be. I’m not sure exactly how long should I read the book and fiddle with the touch screen of a new cell phone before I give up. The learning curve between the Sorry Cell Phone I had and the shiny new electronic wonder beside me now may just be a little much – like walking out of a Math for General Ed course right into Calculus. It’s not an exaggeration.
I think I’m flunking Cell Phone.
The thing intimidates me. It’s crouching here on my desk in all its Samsung Omnia sleekness, taunting me, making me feel unbelievably stupid. Oh, it takes fabulous pictures – I figured that out first thing – and even sends them to my email. I got that part down, easy. It’s just a nightmare to answer a call. In fact, I’ve not been able to pick up a call yet.
I spent three hours last night attempting to return four phone calls and I don’t think success ever happened the same way twice. There was one texting attempt, but I mistakenly texted a person who also can’t work their phone. Neither of us may ever know if that message went through.
It’s time to screw my courage to the sticking place and learn this thing. I’m putting a limit on it, though, because using a phone shouldn’t require a PHD. If I can’t figure out how to pick up and make call by this afternoon, I’ll graciously admit defeat and take the damn thing back to Verizon for something with a little less abracadabra.
Meanwhile, Em is thumb-spinning away on her new rig as if it were a natural extension of her hand. Gen-Y whippersnapper.