Most people break phones. They drop them in the toilet, shatter their screens or sometimes even manage a mixture of both. But I have never been one of those people. I have always prided myself with keeping my purple Motorola flip phone and red LG Shine through middle school and beginning of high school without any flukes; my little black 4s lasted three and a half years of perfect condition. I was the owner of the indestructible iPhone. I don’t know how I’d gotten the honor but mine was above all the rest. My little 4s powered on through all the drops, glasses of water, and over-heatings that I threw at it through the first half of college. But its ever-lessening battery life began to test my patience. Finally I replaced my old friend with a new 5s at the beginning of December, with full expectations it would be just as indestructible as its older brother. This rang true for almost a full year until one ill-fated moment last Monday night and bad case of a concrete floor. One second of clumsiness and my little silver was shattered to pieces and my mourning began.
Denial — For a few nights I would go to sleep and wake up hoping all the cracks in my screen had just been a bad dream. I became a very productive person because I refused to even look at my phone screen. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe if I ignored it for long enough it would fix itself while I had it hiding in my backpack. Finally the need for communication became too great and I had to start admitting that my phone would not be getting better.
Anger — I’m an idiot, a stupid idiot who thought it was smart to take my case off for a night and this is what happened . I should have known better and it’s all my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t been so busy taking my phone in and out of my pocket it wouldn’t have slipped out of my hand. Maybe if girls' pants actually had normal sized pockets I wouldn’t have had to take my case off in the first place. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I have now turned into that silly commercial with bloody fingers from pricking my fingers on my shattered screen.
Bargaining — Okay, at least the phone still works. I mean you can read about 60 percent of the words on the screen at a time. There’s no water damage yet and the camera still works fine. Barcodes can still scan, so at least I can still get a Starbucks to ease the pain. Maybe if I’m really good the pieces of glass will magically meld back together.
Depression — I’m such an embarrassment. What kind of person lets this happen? How am I expected to keep my life together when I can't even keep my phone from breaking? It was an accident! Why’d it have to happen to me? I forget what life was like before this horrid time. I can’t even watch Netflix anywhere I want now. What did I do to deserve this life with half a phone screen?
Acceptance — My life does not revolve around my phone; this isn’t actually that big of a deal. Half of the college kids in America have a slightly shattered phone. In all actuality if it bugs me so much I can pay the $100 dollars to get it fixed. Otherwise, I’ll survive. Maybe it will even make me more productive, because now I won't be staring at my phone as much.
