Wednesday, August 03, 2011

Whereabouts unknown

I never know where to put my cell phone when I’m walking around and stuff. Where am I supposed to put it? I am a man.

Years ago I purchased, for my cell phone, a belt clip. This was nice because I could put my cell phone in it. Then I read on the Internet somewhere that belt clips for cell phones aren’t cool. Get a fanny pack, dorkface! I got rid of my belt clip, and by “got rid of” I mean I broke it in a way that was accidental and purely coincidental to my realization that belt clips aren’t cool. Perfect timing!

Then I was like, “Maybe I can put it in my pocket!” So I put my cell phone in my pocket. Not my pocket with my keys, but my other pocket, with my Bert’s Bees lip balm. It fit, but it jutted out of my pants and stretched the fabric. “Is that a cell phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” is what someone said to me once. So I was like, “Are you implying that my penis is squared-shaped and flat and exists on my upper thigh? I am happy to see you, but I do not have an erection. Hey, my leg is vibrating!” I also read on the Internet that cell phones near the groin area are NOT good for the groin. Groin danger! I mean, skinny jeans are in but belt clips are out?! I AM CONFUSED!

Then I was like, “Wait, I have more pockets!” I put the cell phone in my back pocket. Not the back pocket with my wallet, but the other one. This was great when I was walking around, although it chafed my buttocks slightly. But occasionally I would need to sit down again, like on a bench or something, and I was back at square one. “Move your phone, buddy—I live on that bench,” is what a local crazy person said to me once. Also, my back pockets are smaller, and getting to the phone proved difficult when I saw someone I sort of knew and wanted to avoid conversing with by pretending I was on my phone. Can’t talk now—talking to someone better and farther away! Pinky wave!

Then I was like, "Maybe I can wear cargo pants everywhere! More pockets!" So I bought 10 pairs of cargo pants, and I started putting my phone in the side pockets, and knee pockets, and tiny pockets with zippers exclusively crafted by underage Tainwanese children for the American luxury of cell phones. It was okay at first, minus the violent thrashing of the hard phone against my body, but then someone was like, "Nice cargo pants! What is this, 2009?" And I was like, "What does that mean???" Also, it was like, 112-degrees out, because I live in Arizona, and the cargo pants suddenly seemed very inappropriate. I wish I hadn't purchased so many pairs!

Then I was like, “Maybe I can hold my phone! In my hand!” That was okay, but my hands get sweaty, and I read on the Internet that hand sweat isn’t good for cell phones, and that cell phones aren’t good for hands. Also, I drop the phone ALL THE TIME! I used to have a cover for the phone, but I dropped the phone so many times that I busted the cover. Now when I drop the phone, it splits in two, and the battery goes flying underneath a parked car. I have to put it back together and hope it turns on again. Fingers crossed!

I like to go jogging, and sometimes before I go out for a brief jog, my wife will say to me, “Call me if you encounter a wild beast and need to be picked up, and I’ll call you if I have a question about what the heck is going on with the television,” and I’ll be like, “Pfft. Babe, I’m not bringing my phone!” And she’ll be like, “Why not? What if it’s AN EMERGENCY??!!!” And I’ll be like, “Babe, these are athletic shorts! I can’t have my phone bouncing all around up in there! That is extreme discomfort!” And she’ll be like, “Why don’t you hold it?” And I’ll be like, “Babe, are you serious?” And she’ll be like, “Fine! But if you get back to the house and everything’s gone because we were robbed and I’m under the bed traumatized and shaking, YOUR FAULT!”

No, society’s fault! They have yet to give me an acceptable place to put my phone. Also, they should stop robbing people!

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