Fun scientific fact: One of the longest measurements of time identified by scientists is that block between the time your phone falls out of your hand and the moment you retrieve it from the floor and flip it over to see if the screen is cracked.
I recently experienced this near-epoch when my phone, for inexplicable reasons, decided to leap from my hand at a restaurant. I watched my phone tumble toward the ground, time grinding to a halt. Seasons passed, species evolved, continents shifted.
And then boom. It hit. Face down. I had that pit in my stomach that I have felt before. Quite a few times, I have been quite relieved upon picking up the phone to find it perfectly fine. This was not one of those times.
As I surveyed the damage, a server walking past said, “Did it crack?” Apparently the look on my face said it all. “Oooh, it cracked…”
Indeed. I texted my wife. “And I just dropped my phone and cracked the screen. So yay.”
She responded, “See if you can find somewhere to get it fixed quick.”
I opted not to respond to that text because it was the worst advice ever given in the history of mankind, as I dropped my phone at 3 p.m. On a Sunday. On Christmas Eve. There was no hope for a quick fix.
On a whim, I went to Google. A nearby repair place popped up. Just to be able to prove to my wife that her advice was just awful, I called, waiting for the obvious voice mail that would no doubt say, “You broke your phone on Christmas Eve? Guess who’s outta luck? Hint: Look in the mirror.”
I did not get that however. Rather, I got Steven, who asked how he could help me. I told him I had just broken my phone screen and was hoping to get it fixed. To my surprise, he did not let out a sinister laugh. Rather, he asked me what kind of phone I had. I told him an iPhone. He said, “No, I mean, a 6, a 7…”
Fortunately, I was there with my kids. I asked Steven to hang on a second, and asked my kids what kind of phone I had. “6S,” they said in bored unison, which tells me they may have had to tell me this before.
I told Steven. “Sure, bring it on in, and I can knock it out for you.”
I responded, “You mean, today?”
“Sure. Bring it on up.”
I headed to the store, fully expecting the bottom to drop out of this and find out there was some catch or something, and Steven would say, “Oh, THIS model of 6S costs $8,000 and won’t be ready until March.”
No such misfortune. He did a quick once-over on my phone and said, “Should have it ready for you by 5.”
I had about an hour to kill during the repair, at which point I learned two very important things:
- I am very tethered to my phone on NFL Sundays, and found myself feeling very left out when unable to watch constant score updates
- I have no idea what to do when in line at a Starbucks without a phone. My daughter was with me, and I would have considered having a conversation with her, but she was busy on her phone
I headed back around 5, and Steven had fixed the phone, good as new. He was nice as he could be about it, and sent me off with a Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, indeed, Steven.
The phone shattering was an unfortunate detour on Christmas Eve, but I am glad it all got sorted out quickly. Granted, the moment I saw it was shattered, I was never in doubt that it would get fixed that very day…
Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at firstname.lastname@example.org or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.