The Accidental Chore

Approximately 1.5 years ago, I put my cell phone on top of my car and drove off. As it came sliding down my windshield while I was traveling 40 miles an hour, I thought to myself, “Yay! I’m the proud winner of a 3.5 hour stay at the closest Verizon store where I will then get the ability to shell out my hard-earned cash in exchange for providing Apple with all of my personal data. Dreams really do come true.”

You can only imagine my delight when I realized that even after this joy ride, my old phone was really no worse for the wear. No cracked screen. Still turned on and off. The battery managed to last for a record-breaking 28 minutes on a good day. Everything was the exact same except for one thing.

It only works on speakerphone. Still to this day.

That’s right. For the last year and a half, forget about just providing Apple with my personal information, it’s now a service I offer for free to ALL my friends, family, co-workers and fellow Fred Meyer shoppers. When you have a cell phone that only works on speakerphone, random strangers start to learn a lot about you and, ultimately, your friend’s botched boob job. No matter how many times I tell people they are on speakerphone, stuff always ends up coming up that should probably stay private.

And, yes, this still beats me shelling out money for a new iPhone. I mean, I can take my old Six Plus and cover up the headphone jack with a piece of electrical tape and viola, a brand-new iPhone 10. Except for the speakerphone issue, of course. There’s always the speakerphone issue.

I decided that instead of investing in something new and expensive which would involve me learning new technology at 34 (seems legit impossible), I would turn to good old Craigslist.

Can I tell you how much I love Craigslist? For a family on a budget, it’s such a great tool to keep things economical, which is why it seemed like the perfect way to solve the speakerphone issue with a new-to-me phone.

This is the scenario that led me to the gas station near my work, clutching a handful of bills, leaning against my car, waiting for someone I didn’t know. A man pulled up next to me and made eye contact. When I looked back up, he was still looking at me. Since we’d been staring at each other for a good ten seconds, I naturally assumed he was there for me.

He wasn’t.

I started to realize this important fact as I got closer when he didn’t move to respond in the way I thought he should if he was planning on meeting someone. He just sat in his car, with his expression getting more puzzled with each step I took.  

But here’s where it got really awkward. Instead of saying something about meeting me for a Craigslist item, I took it to a weird place. I recognize that now.

I said, “Are you here for me?”

He laughed as he said, “If I were twenty years younger, I would be here for your services.”

Services?

Services.

I was confused by this point. Really. So I asked him what he meant and he replied with these three fateful words.

“You a hooker?”

They say it’s impossible but I say it’s not. I swallowed my tongue. And then, peeps, I almost died. As I jumped in my car to flee the scene of the accidental crime, I decided a phone that only works on speakerphone is better than ever showing my face at that gas station again.