By Andy Funk
It was to be our third date. We seemed to be clicking, and the hug and kiss at the conclusion of date number two definitely signaled mutual interest in our relationship progressing. So here it was, a Saturday night — there should be no interruptions from work, right?
Uh, did I mention that at the time I worked in local television news, as a technical manager, and that, except when sleeping, I had to read all emails as soon as I received them on my cell phone, and often take some form of action?
Back to the date. Dinner was marvelous, the conversation scintillating, and we both didn’t want it to end. So we took a short drive to “The Chocolate Bar,” a nearby confectionery. That’s when it began. The first email simply mentioned a 1-alarm fire at an address, and that a stringer was being sent to shoot some video. About two minutes later, though, another email came through, and the subject was enough to let me know that the evening was likely to go in an undesired direction. It was just two words: “Apartment Fire.”
For the next two hours or so my cell phone announced new email messages — messages I was obliged to read, and frequently respond to — at least every five minutes. Each time the phone vibrated on my waist I saw the promise of a future with the vibrant woman sitting across the table from me, sipping on her gourmet hot chocolate while taking dainty bites of a scrumptious, chocolate cheesecake, become an ever-increasing impossibility.
Needless to say, I drove her home before finishing my decaf mocha latte or small scoop of fresh orange and chocolate ice cream. There was no kiss at the door, and in reply to my phone message the next day, suggesting another date, I received only a terse e-mail message indicating her disinclination to compete with my cell phone.
Did you know that, while wearing ankle boots, one jump can be sufficient to crack the screen of some cell phones? But, I must say, ten to twenty jumps are far more satisfying.
It’s curious how those with responsibility for managing company cell phones ask all sorts of questions after one hands them a malfunctioning unit with the comment, “Uh, my phone broke last night.”
Andy Funk is a former WAGA news guy now committing behind-the-scenes acts of television at Fox News in NYC. Funk previously submitted this essay to a best “cell phone disaster” website. Funk reports that his winning essay won him a lovely leather phone case. Presumably it will effectively contain the shards of a freshly-stomped phone.