In yet another thrilling example of how my life is a sitcom waiting to happen, I broke my cell phone last night. Now, see the kicker is if I’d done what I’d planned to do upon arriving home — calling my dad, filling him on the events at court, and then promptly falling into bed — I wouldn’t have broken the phone.
Rather, I decided to do laundry. And in doing so, I inadvertantely ended up washing my phone. I shit thee not. It’d be way funnier if it hadn’t happened to me. But even still I find myself giggling inappropriately about it.
Strangely I think the phone actually survived, but I do believe the battery is fried. As such, by the time it dried out, I was without any charge (or ability to recharge) and so I’m left with a surprisingly expensive hunk of plastic that needs to be brought to the Sprint Store later today. I’m hopeful I’ll have a fixed or new phone today, but alas my history with such things is that I end up making two trips to the Store before I end up with a fully functioning cell.