I recently bought a smartphone. Finally. It’s a Droid Charge and it works well enough. Up until about two weeks ago, I still had a Verizon LG3, which is essentially a flip phone. For my utilitarian purposes, it was perfectly functional. But pulling it out in any social setting left me ripe for a mocking. The appearance of the paltry device led to a number of reactions:
“I didn’t even know they still made those!”
“Can I get a picture? It’s like a window into a simpler time when the world wasn’t so dark and confusing.”
“Do you need money for a hot meal?”
Some guys would see this as a potential problem, particularly when encountered with a girl you’d like to ask out. How do you just pull out this technological relic and not look embarrassed? It just so happens that I personally don’t allow the shallow judgments of others to shape my assessment of my own worth, but I heard what they said nonetheless. Responses ranged from playful teasing, to blatant ridicule, to no mention of it at all (these low maintenance types were guaranteed to receive a call back). It went from being a mild embarrassment to a useful tool for screening out prospective female companions who lacked my admittedly high standard for requisite loveliness.
But the funniest response to my phone came at a crowded bar after a rather prim looking Asian waif sidled up to me in an attempt to strike up a conversation. After several minutes of flirty banter (details are hazy, but I probably told her that joke I know), we prepared to exchange numbers. Interested to see her reaction at my reliable yet dated friend, I pulled out my phone and flipped open to retrieve my contacts.
“That phone is so gay.”
Such ignorance. Such intolerance. I’d like to make one thing abundantly clear to all my loyal readers: so long as it doesn’t drop calls, I couldn’t care less who my phone has sex with. It can gay up the place as much as it wants. It can go to Bette Midler concerts, gallivant about town wearing mesh t-shirts, and have torrid love affairs with muscular pool boys who also happen to be phones. All of this is irrelevant if it can perform its phone duties promptly and reliably.
Even if the phone sucked – which at times, it did – I still wouldn’t make it feel self-conscious about being gay. Shitty phones have the same right to happiness that good phones do.
OK. Maybe that phone was gay. But I can assure you that when the day comes when that flip phone is allowed to marry, that I will stand there proudly to give him away. I imagine me as an old man, with thinning gray hair and wire frame glasses, as I look on proudly, lovingly, and without judgement as my gay phone – which has spotty service and has limited ability to connect to the Internet or do anything really cool – holds hands with an iPhone named Fernando as they unite in matrimony. It won’t even be weird that they’re both wearing tuxedos.
I looked at her, smiled, and said, “Nice chatting with you.” I walked away, shaking my head wistfully. I then proceeded to re-Tweet her number to all my followers and said, “Call if you’re looking for a good time,” and deleted her information. I figured that even if she couldn’t take the high road, at least I could.