Contacts
The other week my iPhone 5 slipped out of my hand, and my poor screen shattered into a hundred little pieces. I grudgingly swiped my Visa and upgraded to an iPhone 6 and then began transferring my life from one Apple product to another. While sitting on the F train on my way to a babysitting job, I started editing my phone contacts, combining contacts, and deleting old numbers. It turns out that I've acquired quite the array of digits.
My contacts include: Lucas (Mark's dad) and Sarit (Itamar's mom), which I assume have to be potential play date contacts from my days as a nanny; three nuns, two doctors, and a lot of girlfriends with both married and maiden names; men named Keith, Eric, and Dan, who have lived in my phone without corresponding memories or last names; "Corey from Saturday night" and "Joe the REAL American;" the Hall & Oats Hotline, whatever that is, and a Chinese restaurant in Harlem saved as "Panda;" finally one number ominously saved as, "DON'T ANSWER."
It's so funny to look back at names and numbers of people and places that have taken up space in my phone but no longer in my life. I guess this is what comes with a cracked screen and a weird life.
My contacts include: Lucas (Mark's dad) and Sarit (Itamar's mom), which I assume have to be potential play date contacts from my days as a nanny; three nuns, two doctors, and a lot of girlfriends with both married and maiden names; men named Keith, Eric, and Dan, who have lived in my phone without corresponding memories or last names; "Corey from Saturday night" and "Joe the REAL American;" the Hall & Oats Hotline, whatever that is, and a Chinese restaurant in Harlem saved as "Panda;" finally one number ominously saved as, "DON'T ANSWER."
It's so funny to look back at names and numbers of people and places that have taken up space in my phone but no longer in my life. I guess this is what comes with a cracked screen and a weird life.
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