About two weeks ago, my ball fell out. The little white circle thing that scrolls physically popped out and fell to the ground. This was a great tragedy for about 15 minutes. Because I am so cheap and shameless (my "South County genes" from my mom's side of the family, as my Claytonite dad calls it), I shoved my ball back into its little slot and taped all around it to secure it back in place. It worked perfectly, but a week later I had some extra time before I was supposed to meet a friend and decided to stop into the AT&T store just to see if they would fix it for free. ("Yeah right," I thought. "They won't just fix my ball for free. They'll have to send my phone away and of course I didn't buy the insurance on it.")
I walked into the store and there was no wait. That never happens at the phone store. Ever. THEN the phone guy looked at me and smiled one of those creepster smiles. Usually I would think "wow lammmmme" but that day I thought "he will help me fix my phone just go with it." I told him, "Here's the deal. My ball fell out. It's taped in. Ghetto fab I know, go ahead and laugh. I don't care. I'm completely fine with it the way it is, unless you are going to fix it for free." Usually I would be more patient and polite with a phone person, but I could tell this phone guy was kind of a d-bag and didn't really care for some reason. I think I was so proud of myself for fixing it myself that I really didn't care. I did surgery on my phone all alone and didn't really need their help.
The phone guy grabbed my BlackBerry without saying a word. He looked at me like he was the Zeus of all phone guys, and ripped my taped ball right out of its socket. He walked away into the back room silently. I WAS SO PISSED. "Nooooo whyyyyy did you DO that?! Uhhhhh," I yelled at his back. This phone guy was messing with my mind. It was like that violent moment in The Fountainhead when Howard Roark just shows up at Dominique's house unannounced and owns her. I immediately wanted to destroy this phone guy, but knew I secretly loved him for his greatness.
He popped out from the back room with a shiny silver ring. "It's your lucky day. I'm not supposed to do this," he said. He took the ring and snapped it over the ball in its socket then handed me my phone back. It was immediately wonderful again. I walked out without thanking the phone guy but very elated that I avoided a possible catastrophe. (Because a BlackBerry with no ball means no BrickBreaker, which truly would equal catastrophe.)
Not even 24 hours later, I was wasted at my friend's graduation party and dropped it. It crashed to the ground, cracking the screen in a horrific shatter-pattern across its whole face. This was devastating. I cried. My friends laughed, knowing the triumphant situation that had just taken place with my ball.
The next day, I tried to gather myself and learn to love the Crack. I started by learning to text with it. Texting is still basically the same, I just have to tilt my head and/or squint to read the letters when they appear along the Crack. After my CrackBerry and I overcame this obstacle, I had to put it to the real test. Would I still be able to play a significant game of BrickBreaker?
The first game I played was a little rough. The Crack sometimes hides the bricks, specifically along the left side of the screen where its the worst. This was something that I had to get used to. The second game was a little better, giving me some hope that down the line I could recover. It would take baby steps, but there was a glimmer of hope.
The third game I played was insane. I ended up blowing my past record out of the water. I had been striving to beat my record of 15290/Level 29 for 6 months. Then, the day after what I believed to be a dream-shattering crack, I conquer it with a record of 17180/Level 1. (I made it through EVERY LEVEL...all 34...and BACK to Level 1. And yes, I did die on Level 1, but it was only because I was so elated and incapable of concentrating.)
I now refer to the Crack as "my lucky crack." It is lucky and kind of makes my phone more consistent with me and my lifestyle in general. It makes me love my BlackBerry even more than I did before. The phone guy deserves a little bit of street cred because I don't think the taped-on ball would've survived the crash at the bar that caused the Crack, but he's still a creep. (A good creep though, kind of in a Justin Bobby-type way.)
After all of this drama, there are a few things I take from this. First off, I'm so glad I don't have a dumb iPhone. It would have died a horrible death a year ago, at least. RIM created an amazing piece of technology when they created my BlackBerry. It's a survivor. Who cares if I don't have a stupid app that let's me shake my phone and pick where I want to go to dinner? Second, if my CrackBerry does die soon, it lived a wonderful life that should be celebrated. I need to accept its death when the time does come, mourn appropriately, maybe even say a little eulogy about how it enabled me to beat my BrickBreaker record, and then make the creepy phone guy transfer all my shit back to my Motorola peanut-shaped phone that I've held on to since my sophomore year of high school in case of an emergency.