Thanks to the forces of a full moon, Sunday proved a very trying day. Not content to have my back thrown out, or my nephew pee on the patio, the universe also conspired to have my iPhone plop into the pool. Strangely enough, I was NOT taking pictures of myself at the time (I’d finished doing that earlier in the day). I was simply moving it, placing it on top of the book in my hand as I walked by the shallow end, and it slipped right in. I jumped in and pulled it out within seconds, but the damage was done.
The recommended course of action is to place it in a bag of rice and seal it up, so the rice can pull the moisture out. The only question was: white or brown rice? I ended up opting for the latter, as seen in these photos. A few hours later, I went to check on the phone, and in the dim bedroom the bag was glowing orange. What kind of E.T.-phone-home-bullshit was this? It cast an eerie glow, like it was possessed, powering up a life of its own. It was warm to the touch – maybe its survival instincts were kicking in, as it tried to dry itself of its own accord. Whatever the case, it was unsettling. And it didn’t go off when I tried to power it down either. I left it there, alone in the cool dark, glowing strangely, either in death throes or rebirth.
The next morning, the glow was gone. I tried to turn it on, and it indicated a low-battery. This was a good sign, or so I thought. I plugged it into the charger and let it charge for a few hours. And then… nothing. If this is the universe’s way of telling me that I’m too dependent on my phone, I didn’t need the message.
