I broke down and bought a new phone today. One with extravagant features, of which I'm fairly positive I'll use only 10% or so. My old phone had finally had it. Both little screens were suddenly shorting out on me, and there's only so many times you can bitch-slap a phone and get it to come back to life for you. I hadn't realized beforehand that this event would itself be an epic tale to behold. Sure I dragged my feet and held off for as long as possible, but when my phone finally went belly up and flipped me the finger on its little digital display, I figured it was time to move on.

I did a bit of research beforehand just to make sure I knew what I wanted before anyone tried to sell me anything. To which I'm now saying, 'Great, Phil. You spent an hour learning about this shit at home only to go to the store and have to wait two hours before you could actually go through with it. Now that's time well spent.'

And all the while I had to deal with this crazy Verizon welcome woman, probably in her 40s, who had gotten it into her head that a low-cut spaghetti strap black top covered in white polka dots was perfectly acceptable attire for work, so long as it was covered by a see-through outer top of similarly disgusting fabric that, even as a second layer, failed to conceal her bra. Then there was the punk 10-year-old who accidentally jumped into the family pool with his phone in his pocket, so as a reward his dad bought him a brand new Voyager. Sure, I got the same phone, but I'm not the one hasn't even started sixth grade. Oh, and the jerk kid wore his faux-kleys inside the store the whole time. Bitch, you're not fifteen yet.