So, ever since I got my first cell phone, it appeared I carried the curse my stepdad had: no phone can survive long in my hands.
My first phone, a small black GoPhone my parents gave me while I was visiting family back in Nevada the summer of 2008, died after being left in my shorts pocket and going through the washing machine. The day before I was leaving with my grandfather to Oregon for a weekend. Luckily my aunt was able to replace it with an old one of hers (my SIM card had remained intact).
My next phone was able to escape the wrath of my curse. I got a flip phone for Christmas that year, and the only real issue was when I dropped it in the Dollar Store one day (an employee ended up picking it up, I got it back easily).
Then came my first smartphone. I got a Blackberry Storm right after it came out because my parents were switching to Verizon and I was paying for it. I loved that phone, so much. I had it for about a year before I dropped it in a 12 foot deep pond. It was lost, forever. I used my mom’s old Blackberry Storm until we could get to a Verizon store and use her partial upgrade to get me a new phone.
I picked out the Palm Pre (which, for the record, is still my favorite phone of all time). The first one had to be replaced after about six months when it randomly glitched and effectively bricked. The second one was replaced just as quickly after it had severe glitching (I’d also lost the power/lock button less than a month after receiving the phone, out of nowhere). The third one lasted from about April/May to November, when I dropped it on a stack of picture frames. The Palm Pre had an interesting touch screen. The outside screen was more or less unable to be cracked, but the fall managed to completely wreck the LCD screen.
I got a new phone for Christmas. My least favorite, the Pantech Breakout. By February I had to get a replacement when a five inch fall onto concrete spiderwebbed the screen so badly you couldn’t find one specific impact point. The next one actually lasted me from February of 2012 to August of 2013, when, the day before I moved to Atlanta, it fell between the cushions of my parent’s sofa and got mangled in the reclining mechanisms. The outside screen was mostly okay, with one big crack in the top right corner, but the LED screen was pretty wrecked. I had to wait until the next update came available, which, luckily, happened right before I dropped it on MARTA and the LED screen went completely dead.
I chose the Droid RAZR because it had managed to survive my stepdad’s abuse for a pretty long while. The RAZRs are literally built to survive severe abuse (Gorilla Glass screen, waterproof up to 30 feet, etc). It even survived me accidentally placing it in the washing machine (don’t ask why or how) over Christmas when it got pretty soaked before I realized my mistake.
Then, the inevitable happened. Since my physical abuse was having no real effect, my phone apparently decided it needed to fuck me over somehow. My phone upgraded from Jellybean to KitKat. Immediately there were glitches, but they weren’t really keeping me from using it easily. The main problem I suffered was a 90% chance of being unable to receive MMS messages. Then, a few days ago, apps started crashing in the background like crazy, severely affecting my use. I fixed it by disabling the apps that seemed to be the problem (stupid preinstalled apps). It was fine the next day, and most of yesterday.
Yesterday evening, Jacob and I went to his dad’s for 4th of July to spend the night. My phone randomly had something crash, and Homescreen crashed. So I sighed and turned it off so I could restart it and fix it. However, upon restart, it froze on the Motorola logo. I’m more or less tech savvy, so I attempted to access the Reboot/Dead Android screen, to no avail. I called my parents, and decided I would let it die and try to make it work in the morning when I realized it was super fucking bricked (so much so it was unable to be recognized by my laptop). After several failed attempts and an order for a new phone, I was able to factory reset it. It did nothing, and I thanked the stars that I’d ordered a replacement.
So, moral of the story: If you get a Verizon plan, get the fucking insurance. If you’re cursed like me, it will save you soooo much money.