It’s my sad fate to be the neighborhood’s unwilling tech-maven, and lately… I’ve been wrestling with phones. There are two basic truths to phones:
1.) It might be good to replace your phone before the power switch stops working.
2.) Stop breaking your phone by looking at cut-rate porn.
The lady’s phone number has been transferred to a new phone, and just in the nick of time. If only they made a good, solid, rotary cell phone that would last the ages.
The gentleman’s? Well, that has been referred to someone (a man) he might be more comfortable with than me.
Which does lead us to truth number three:
Yes. You will probably have to hand over your phone in order for me to fix your phone. That’s the part that we were getting stuck on. Every time we got to the point where I… actually need the phone… the gentleman would turn purple and suddenly decide that the problem… isn’t so bad, after all. (I’m assuming there are popups.) Talking to another man might be much less embarrassing than talking to me.
I’ll be over here, playing the remarkably familiar game of “Why, no. I have no idea what you are up to.”
Hee hee hee.