Don't Hit My Car. I Mean It.

I was sitting in the passenger seat, and my dad was driving my little blue car. Behind us, was a nice person who will remain nameless (I’ll call him Chris). Chris was driving a huge silver SUV, with my mom and brothers also in the car. I don’t remember what we were driving around for, but we came to a parking lot with two open spaces. My dad started to pull into one of the spaces, but he was taking a long time. For some reason, my dad wanted to line the car up perfectly before pulling into the spot. This angered Chris, so he decided to slam into our car and push us around the parking lot. Our car started spinning. I rolled down my window and started yelling at Chris for wrecking my car, but he was driving away laughing. I was furious. (Here I should apologize to my roommate. Caryn, I’m sorry if I woke you up screaming obscenities in the middle of the night. I don’t know what came over me.) My dad and I got out of the car and stormed out of the parking lot, trying to follow Chris. For some reason, I knew exactly where he was headed. He was driving home to hide from us because he knew he had pissed us off. By the time we got out of the parking lot, Chris was out of sight, but we knew he wasn’t far. We knew that his house was just up the hill from the parking lot, so we began to climb the hill. We had to cross the road at one point to get to the right side of the grass where Chris had dropped off my mom and brothers, so we played what seemed like a “Frogger” game in traffic. Let me tell you…. It’s easier to cross the road than frogger makes it seem. Once we crossed the road, we stormed angrily over to Chris’s house. This is where it gets interesting.

Chris had a house that was run down, old, and dark. It reminded me of one of those haunted houses you walk through at theme parks. The curtains were sheets that were ripped and dirty, the furniture was old and broken, and there were many small rooms throughout the house. When we got up to the house, we saw that there were three police officers standing outside. They told us that Chris was hiding somewhere inside and that he was going to scare us when we found him. My dad and I tried to walk in, but the officers stopped us and told us that we had to go in one at a time so Chris could scare us. If you know me, I HATE haunted houses. Hate. Them. I was thinking to myself, “I’m really pissed at Chris for wreaking my car, I hate haunted houses, these cops are annoying me, and I’m in no mood to play hide-and-seek…. THAT’S. IT.” Infuriated, I grabbed a taser gun and tasered the three cops. My family looked on in shock. I didn’t care. I stormed into the house by myself and shouted, “CHRIS! I’VE GOT A TASER GUN AND IF YOU DON’T COME OUT OF HIDING, YOU’RE NEXT!!!!!” There was no response. I started to check every room, taser gun at the ready. I was in no mood to be messed with. After I searched the whole first floor, I knew Chris was hiding upstairs, because there was only one room upstairs. I walked up the stairs and saw Chris’s feet behind the door. He was giggling kind of loudly. I opened the door, saw him, and tasered him. He fell down on the ground and I looked at him and said, very dramatically, “That’s for hitting my car.” Then I walked out of the house, feeling very proud of myself.

This morning, I woke up mind-blown. Sometimes I don’t understand where my dreams come from. The only thing I can get out of that dream is that if you hit my car, I will taser you. Don’t hit my car.

My Little Grandpa Phone

I have a question. How many phone years are equivalent to 3 human years? Because the years are definitely not the same. If I had to take a guess, I would say 3 human years equal 70 phone years. Why? Because I’ve had my phone for almost 3 years now and it acts like a 70 year old Little Grandpa. I think that’s what “LG” stands for. Little Grandpa. Not Life’s Good. Well, actually, let me back up. My phone used to be a Life’s Good phone. When I first got my phone it was like a little shiny maroon steroid man screaming “LIFE’S GOOD!”.

Now my phone has seemed to age as fast as lettuce wilts. It looks more like a little grandpa with a white beard and a walker, who smells of old people and screams, “WHAT? I can’t hear you! Speak up, son!”

I’m half expecting my phone to start telling me it’s old stories that all start with the words, “When I was your age….”

What makes me think my phone is so old? Well I’ll tell you. I'll do a comparison of my phone to the younger version of itself. Once upon a time my phone was awesome and young and fast and sleek. Now it's almost three human years old, slow, and scratched. Don’t get me wrong, I still love my Little Grandpa, but I think it’s just funny how I can find easy ways to compare it to a Grandpa. Now where did it all begin…. Oh yes. I remember. About a year ago my Little Grandpa lost his memory. It was a slow and painful process. He would keep turning off out of the middle of nowhere. It got so bad that I had to take him to the doctor (The Verizon store) to get him checked out. It turns out that his memory card had been corrupted so they had to remove it before it would delete all the information in his brain. Sad, I know. Well they had to do surgery on him to remove his memory card. The surgery lasted for a loooong time. I think 10 minutes to be exact, but they finally brought him out with the gut wrenching news that he was no longer a young phone, and that I should think about getting a new one. But I protested. I loved my little grandpa and he was too young to die, so I decided to keep him even though he no longer had any memory of any pictures (one of the side effects of the surgery). Well, that’s where it all began. That’s when my phone turned into a little grandpa.

When my phone was younger, I felt like I could punch it in the face (drop it on the ground) with no harm done. Now, I feel like if I drop little grandpa, he’ll break his hip and have to use a walker, and I don’t want that. I mean, I think he already kinda uses a walker. When my phone was younger, he was really fast. I could type words so fast that I felt like the phone already knew what I wanted to say.

Now, little grandpa is so slow at typing, that I’ll usually finish typing the text before all of the words show up on the screen.

10 minutes later

Little grandpa also doesn’t vibrate much when I have a message…. Or it will just wait like 30 minutes before it tells me I have a message. It’s like this….

…. When I wish it was still like this….

Not only has my phone gotten weaker with the vibrating and alerting me of my messages, but little grandpa is also going blind. With my young phone I could see pictures like this….

But that would be way too hard for little grandpa now. If he wants to view a picture, he has to get out his coke bottle cap reading glasses and squint and even then the picture looks like this….

Not really. My phone just can't zoom anymore. That was the point I was trying to get across.

And if the picture doesn’t look like that, then it’s so dark that there’s really no point trying to look at it anyway. I really don’t understand why it gets so dark. Like the picture will be fine when you take it, but as soon as you save it, it gets like 4 shades blacker.

Little grandpa has hallucinations too. (Another side effect of the surgery). My young phone used to sleep soundly through the night.

Little grandpa has troubles. Every night for about the past year, little grandpa will light up at exactly 10:43 pm claiming that I have “A new multimedia message!” only when I open my phone, there’s nothing there. It’s like my poor little grandpa is waking up in the middle of his peaceful slumber claiming that aliens are about to attack the planet.

Most people would just get a new smartphone, but I’ve decided to stick with little grandpa until he really does die, cause even after all that stuff, I still love my little grandpa:)