Nokia is rumoured to be re-releasing its 3310 phone, so we asked Jeremy Unkovich* to write an ode to his beloved brick.
[*When Jeremy got home from a hard day's plumbing, he excitedly told his wife Jo all about his Wireless debut. But then he fell asleep putting his son to bed, so Jo wrote it instead. She truly is his better half.]
***
“Is that my past calling?” you smirk, as my old, grey Nokia heaves out that jaunty default tune.
“We have to get you a new phone.”
I shake my head and gently slurp my cappuccino.
I will not get a new phone. Not until 2G is ripped from me completely and I’m forced kicking and hissing into the next generation like a cat into the bath.
In a world of constant noise and 24/7 availability, my little brick is a handwritten “back in 5” sign dangling on the door. I’m having lunch. I’m at the supermarket. I’ll be with you when I’m ready.
My phone has an alarm clock and a torch function and, when used correctly, serves as a bottle opener.
People look wistfully at my phone and think of a simpler time. A time when folk looked out the bus window and children screamed on planes. When emails were for computers and computers were at home. When “D” was an emoticon and “selfie stick” was a dildo . A time between about 2003 and 2008.
Maybe I sound like a technophobe. Maybe you are wondering how I pick up my Trademe wins without GPS. Maybe you think I’m onto something.
First, I probably am a technophobe.
Next, let’s face it, unless that auction closes between 7pm and 10pm I am losing it to some hua on a smartphone. Let’s also face it that I got deeply, deeply lost in Helensville picking up a yucca once and I won’t hit any more pick-up-onlys in Helensville.
Ok, you got me again.
But third. Could I maybe be onto something? Check out my link. Baby laughing. Quick survey. Cat laughing.Tonight’s dinner – supernommy. Up to? Buy my thing. Read my thing.Do you like my thing? News. Not news. BELLY FAT BELLY FAT BELLY FAT.
Is there not something deeply attractive about just turning it all off for a minute?
My phone is still singing. It buzzes furiously against the hard veneer of the table. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” you demand.
No. I’m not going to answer it. I’m enjoying my coffee.
Plus, the speaker is a bit fucked and I can’t really hear through it.