WHEN I SIGNED MY LIFE AWAY to Alltel back in the spring of 2006, I had no idea what kind of claptrap I was getting myself into. Everything seemed to make so much sense at the time, all of the phones seemed glistening and functional, the salesman wore a cheesy peach-colored polo. Scribbling a John Hancock on the dotted line seemed like a good idea — it seemed like an even better notion when they handed me my state o’ the art Kyocera BrickPhone TX-3489023478 Remix. Everything pretty much collapsed around me at that point except that of my newfound cellular telephonic device, an ancient artifact in my hand. One would have thought it was the greatest acquiring since the Louisiana Purchase.
I yapped into that thing night and day. It was practically oxygen to me, except it made up about 92% of my atmosphere instead of 20. One could have sworn I’d lathered a layer of Krazy Glue to my palm and affixed it to my hand, and even my father managed to make note, “You think you’re so special.” He’d got that right — I was!
Through bouts of anger, breakups, and sisterly cat fights the phone prevailed. So, too, did others. I gradually noticed that either my phone had been gaining weight, or others had been getting smaller. Soon everyone and their eighth cousins had Razors, Crazrs, Cr8zies, L-Oh Em Gee’s or whatever kids those days were in to. For as much as I wished my Kyocera had gained the Freshman Fifteen, I knew deep down that the BrickPhone Remix was sadly going out of style.
I watched in disgust as each day one of my friends showed up with a new phone that could sing, invert, walk on water, solve differential equations, disintegrate, time travel, or make their bed. I became increasingly disheartened; my .836 megapixel camera wasn’t so fancy, the ‘Happy Cricket’ ringtone was suddenly sadder, and somehow the ‘cer’ in ‘Kyocera had rubbed off — Kyosucka. The best part of it was, Alltel had me on a leash for two years and as far as they were concerned, I was their little puppet (I don’t know how they sleep at night).
The tables have turned, and this past week has brought tears of joy to my eyes as my contract expired. The shackles of cellular mobility have, at long last, been abolished. Hooray! Sweet cellular freedom.
I have been rewarded with a new phone, brand spankin’ new digits, and most importantly, a new provider. My poor Kyosucka BrickPhone Remix is on its final days, saddened by its LG enV2 replacement. No more Happy Cricket or Oh, Canada! ringtones — just love.
Wired,
jc
approximatelyes.com 
you oughta facebook message me your new number, and if you need mine, that’s where i’ll give it to you.