OK. Now I know I have an addiction.
I’ve often heard the Blackberry referred to as a “Crackberry,” to the point where it got a little old. Then my Blackberry died a horrible, unfortunate death. And I came to realize what an utter, hopeless junky I’ve become.
I was on the porch last night trying to kill a wasp that had wandered in. I took a mighty swing … and missed, leaving a pissed off wasp streaming toward me. My survival instinct kicked in and I started hopping around, trying to get out of the way.
That’s when my Blackberry popped out of my breast pocket, flopped through the air and crashed onto the wood decking.
I picked it up, praying it would still work. And it did. Or so I though. But it wasn’t able to find the network. I was cut off. No e-mail. No calls. Just a constant, nagging “Searching for CDMA” note on the phone.
I knew I had to go to Atlanta the next day, and the thought of being out in the world without the cool comfort of my Blackberry really rattled me. I started to twitch. I called Verizon and begged them to show mercy on me. Their advice was to take it to the nearest Verizon store and see if it could be resurrected.
So this morning that’s what I did. But by that point, I was sweating profusely and I kept looking at the Blackberry’s screen in the hope of seeing some sign of life … a new message, a Facebook alert, a Gmail notice. Nothing.
The Verizon folks were great. I think it was refreshing that I actually admitted the Blackberry’s demise was my own doing. Or maybe they saw what a mess I was and realized it would be better to feed my jones than deal with the consequences. They offered to replace it for 50 bucks, which I eagerly agreed to. Phone service restored, I sped home to re-establish my Blackberry’s intimate relation with the Maroon Ventures Exchange Server. Mission accomplished. And in crisis, as is often the case, I came to self-awareness. I’m an addict. And maybe the stupid Crackberry joke isn’t so stupid after all. Just make sure I have my fix and there won’t be any trouble …
