It's quite clear on hindsight that my phone was not very happy with me. I, however, didn't know about it until this morning when matters had reached a head, and it had decided that enough was enough. Without any warning (as if these things happen with one!), it promptly jumped out of my pocket, where I had put it as usual during my morning ride. I thought I heard something bounce off the road, braked my bike, and hardly had I turned back to glance at it than I saw some black pieces flying off the tarmac. My heart skipped many beats beat before I realised that what had been shattered was the (rather cheap) protector that I'd bought from Amazon (UK) not more than a fortnight ago.
Suppressing my mounting anxiety about its welfare (see, phone? I do care!), I set my bicycle against a light post and quickly hurried back, but not before a truck ran over the protector that had already been separated from its subject, thus putting terminating its life permanently. And prematurely. I quickened my pace, and my heart quickened its beat even more when I saw fresh disaster in the form of an approaching car, its wheels maliciously aimed right at the phone. I'm sure the phone was laughing quietly at me in what it perceived to be its last few moments. Only not quite. I couldn't quite bring myself to rush into the oncoming traffic in an all-out effort to save my phone - for, much as I valued my phone, I valued my life more - but fate intervened. On my behalf, for once. The wheels delivered only a glancing blow.
My heart resumed its normal pace and, after picking up the phone, so did my feet. I examined the phone, looking at it steadily, and realised that I should have bought the services of the protector much earlier: before its first fall last winter, when its back cover had been ripped apart painfully from its body, and which I put back together quite casually; before what should have been understood as an accident was misconstrued as sadism; before my phone felt it was being pushed to the brink, though not quite literally.
I'd wanted to get to work earlier than usual, so I hurriedly put the phone back, into my pant pocket this time, and continued on. It was only after I reached the shower room did I realise that everything was not hunky-dory. My phone refused to talk to the network, and stubbornly gave me a 'No signal' message. Even after I'd gone through the usual routine: switched it off, pulled the battery out, re-inserted the SIM, put the battery and back-cover back on. I let it go then, but noticed after my shower, with much relief, that it had decided to accept that its destiny and mine were inextricably entwined, and that the least it could do in that case was to resume its dialogue with my carrier's network.
It had bruises to remind me of the morning's incident, but other than that, it seemed none the worse for the experience. I, on the other hand, was much chastised, but I smiled. These things tend to work out eventually. Especially if there's a near-death experience involved.
