My iPhone’s got a headache

It has been almost two years since I bought this sleek thing. I should have been up there, chalking up 12.3 sex partners. Clearly, my iPhone has a problem. It ain’t me, babe.

In what has been described as an unscientific but fun study, it was claimed that iPhone users have more fun than other smart phone users. And it was the women who managed that figure of 12.3. I understand simple figures, preferably full; on a bad day half would do. But what is ‘.3’? Is it one- third of a man? Probably the iPhone manages to attract just this much in the 13th potential target. I am just guessing. Women, unless they are on the phone, usually prefer to put it away in their bags. Depending on the trend and the choice any woman exercises, the level of the bag could be from somewhere near her waist to her hips; if she is using a short-handle one it might skirt her knee, and if it is a clutch then it would brush against her thigh. The third part of the man that gets enamoured would have to be in that range.

Is that a hit? Does not some level of attraction start from the top? Do these phones naturally give out vibes, irrespective of where they are?

Come to think of it, this could be quite serious. When I first went to buy the phone it was raining that September day as I, with much trepidation, entered the service provider’s store. They said it was ‘out of stock’.

“Oh, really? I have already called your head office and they have directed me to this place. Hang on, let me call.” I called someone and told her that I was a loyal client and they had promises to keep.

I think someone liked Robert Frost. They asked me if I could wait, it might take long.

While I waited, not like regular folks on those fake happy-looking red benches, but at the desk of one of the executives, I kept fidgeting with what now seemed like an antique handset. Thoroughly bored, I turned around and found a rather large man watch bemusedly at what must have been my huge handbag.

“You are waiting for an iPhone?” he asked in a heavy American accent from a posh expat mouth.

He told me the story of his iPhone and how the screen had frozen. “You must be a Mac person,” he said.

I had never seen a Mac, let alone used it then. But it seemed that to be an iPhone person you had to be a Mac person; not just a Mac person, but an Apple person, for he went into a detailed discussion about Apple. I kept ‘hmming’ with interest. I can sometimes look quite intelligent, so it helps.

Impatient as I was, I was already being initiated into the sexual rites of possessing an iPhone. He decided to give me a tip. “When you touch the keypad don’t let your thumb hit the key, just touch it above the letter. Gently.”

The guy who brought me the black box did not look like he could be gentle with anything. I asked for the instruction manual. “No, it’s all there.”

“Where?” I asked.

He shook his head. My saviour had gone into some secret dungeon to see if his phone had thawed. I discovered that smart phones don’t need manuals; they need men.

I departed carrying what I thought was just a spiffier version of a cell phone. Little did I know that I had been given one with no sex appeal. All it ever did was dial numbers only because I had touched it at the wrong place; it slipped from my hands, which made it mandatory for me to use a cover. Oh, it’s a dominatrix leather one, make no mistake, with a strap, a button and even a steel ring that could pass off as a handcuff. I guess all this was subliminal.

It was happening without any attempt on my part. A lot more was supposed to happen, and it did not.

So, what is it about the iPhone that the Blackberry and the Android do not have? They are smart; they can connect you to anyone anytime. And I was in fact planning to buy a Blackberry. Did my iPhone realise it was the second choice and therefore decided I did not deserve to be imbued with special magnetism?

If this survey is just a flippant foray into gizmo territory, then think about another one a year ago. It wasn’t even a poll; it was an analysis by Strand Consult who don't think we, the users, are particularly smart:

"When we examine the iPhone users' arguments defending the iPhone, it reminds us of the famous Stockholm Syndrome--a term invented by psychologists after a hostage drama in Stockholm. Here, hostages reacted to the psychological pressure they were experiencing by defending the people that had held them hostage for six days."

I have never defended the iPhone; if anything, it has to make excuses for me. I don’t even use it well enough and I have not upgraded it. So, where is this hostage drama? I like it because it does some things and don’t because it does not. This bunch of consultants has the audacity to declare:

"In reality, the iPhone is surrounded by a multitude of people, media, and companies that are happy to bend the truth to defend the product they have purchased from Apple."

I purchased it from my phone company. It did not matter whether Apple or Pears had produced it. There is no need to bend the truth for no one cares about what I have in my hand as I breathe into the phone while talking to them. I use the camera a lot and it accidentally creates the most amazing pictures. And until I tell anyone, no one will know how just a little shake of its booty can produce art.

If I get something that I like more, I will go for it. I am not into smart phones, really. But I would take one-third of Steve Jobs, if only my iPhone did what it was supposed to do.


  1. Haha brilliant ... classic FV. Oozing with naughtiness and dripping with sexuality. Really enjoyed it. Thanks!

  2. Thanks, Zeemax. Now we know what cell phones can do for my writing!


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