Not an iPhone... I'll miss that pony-hide cover Maggie brought me back years ago from Wyoming "in case you ever get a cellphone."
My tale of woe & redemption begins with my office phone going out. Verizon (boo) sends a repairguy. He reluctantly & slowly tries a couple of fixes then basically tells me to fuck off. I know that Verizon (hiss) has no real interest in fixing copper wires/landlines—they're expensive to maintain & fewer & fewer people have 'em.
He leaves, promising to come back the next day.
Verizon (jeer) also tells me to fuck off: the next available appointment is actually more than a week away. They act like they are my friend.
I go up the block, & an hour later my office number has been converted to a cell, & I am the owner of an iPhone. I guess that means putting my little workhorse 10-year-old flip phone to rest, eh?
Welcome to the future! I mean the past! I have a smartphone! Call me!