Johnny Hates Jazz, where are you when I need you?
This morning I got up at the ass crack of dawn. Partly because my mother was snoring and partly because I had committed to dragging my fat ass to the gym. I crawled out of bed at 6:15 in the morning (on my first day of vacation), grabbed my phone and keys, then headed out to the car for my sneakers. On the way back into the building something tragic happened, something so horrible that it’s difficult for me to write this.
I was carrying my sneakers, socks, phone, keys, ipod and water bottle when I went for the door. Suddenly, things started slipping from my hands. It was like slow motion as they were free from my hand and I went after my most prized possession in the world: my iphone 4. My hands were too slow to catch it and it hit the ground. Hard. Really hard. So hard that the entire front of the phone shattered. The screen looks like a damn spiderweb.
Best part? Apple Protection Plan doesn’t cover it.
That means, I have to shell out at least $499 to get another one. That’s a weekend in NYC. Or a plan trip to England. Or about 100 venti frappuccinos. Or three really great pairs of shoes.
I could fucking cry right now.