Last weekend like the good domesticated little girl that I am, I took an armful of my delicate clothing items *ahem* downstairs and loaded them into the washing machine.
Hook whatever that needs to be hooked lest they'll ruin something else.
Pour in detergent. And softener liquid. Of course.
Set the button to 'Suit' (this is what the manual told me to use for such items).
Press 'Start'.
All went well, and 36 minutes later, the machine beeped. One loadful, done.
I open the top and reach inside. Out come the clean things. Clean and all flowery-smelling too. Hmmmm. One piece... two piece... three... four...
But wait... there's something else inside there.. something that doesn't belong...
My cellphone!
Dang. Now I remember putting the phone on top of the load while carrying them downstairs. It must’ve gotten itself inside the washing machine while I was hooking them hooks. There goes that outstation claim which I just banked in last week. Auw….I really love the phone although it had none of those 65,000-color screen / camera / MMS-capabiligity / WiFi and whatnots. It’s a pretty basic phone, heck, it’s not even polyphonic, the only thing that’s a wee bit unique about it would probably the ‘Thermometer’ function. Yep, it can tell you the number of Celciuses of its surrounding. Plus it also has a rubber-coated exterior that’s so suitable for a klutz like me. I must’ve dropped it at least twice a week so far and not once did it conked out after a fall, unlike my previous phone made of flimsier material where sometimes the whole phone would be all over the place (e.g. battery here, top casing there, bottom casing further there) after an accident (and there were many, I tell you).
Sis told me to try dry the thing outside. After one whole day basking in the warmth of a Saturday sun, I took it in and tried to switch it on. No such luck.
I went through Sunday by borrowing Mom’s cellphone.
I love the blue-and-black-rubber-coated-piece-of-thing so much that I went through Monday with the thing heavy in my bag. I took it out a few times remembering the good times we had. Tried charging it in case it may suddenly come back to life, but nothing changes. Nada.
Tuesday came. I decided that it’s probably a good time as any to move on. I can’t keep on living in the past, and with no cellphone to boot either (what if the bank wanted to call to tell me my account’s been approved? what if Boss tried to get hold of me regarding a detail in the presentation that I prepared? what if Tom suddenly felt like calling me up for a drink? what if I win a million RM in some contest and the winner will only be notified by phone?). I made plans with Sis to go shopping for a new one after work. At 5 p.m., I was ready. I held the dead phone in my palm, cradling it like a baby, saying my final goodbye before I take out the SIM card that’s been it’s ticker for more than a year now.
Ah.. goodbye dear old cellphone. It’s been great working with you.
Being one so sentimental, I can’t help but hook it up to the charger for one final time.
And wonder of wonders...
![dah masuk air pun boleh guna lagi]()
It's alive!
(yeah I set the language option to 'Bahasa Melayu' on my phone, and proud of it)
Upon further inspection, however, I discovered that it trills no more. I reckon that call from a friend last Friday nite was its final tune. No more George Michael’s
Careless Whisper when a friend calls or Sheila On 7’s
Dan when Mom or Dad rings. The best it could manage is a single, pathetic ‘beep’. So I had to put in on vibrate mode all the time and ensure it’s either in my purse where I’d feel it vibrating or on a hard surface where it would vibrate noisily.
A replacement seems to be unavoidable after all. Ah well.
For the moment though, you’d still do, you little blue-and-black-rubber-coated-piece-of-thing.
