More Laundry Disasters

Well, I just washed and dried young M's cel phone.

Goddamnit.

There's nothing much else to say about that except that it's a little ironic that just now when I got home, toasty warm forever destroyed cell phone in my laundry basket, ebay had left me an email about a camera I was watching. Good thing I didn't bid. No camera now. You know I just got him a new cel phone in December and it cost the earth even given the hours of phone bargaining I did with the Sprint people. They won't insure him anymore, either, because if you actually use your $7 a month insurance to get a $50 replacement phone more than twice, you become uninsurable. Naturally. You'd think it would be possible to find used cell phones given how many people upgrade somehow but alas, it is not and even though you can buy a disposable phone for less than $20, you can't get one that will work with Sprint for less than $150. Goodbye, camera dreams. Fuck. And I can't even be that mad at him: he didn't lose it or leave it somewhere or break it mysteriously; he forgot it in his jeans pocket and I, who should fucking know better, didn't check any pockets.

I had been hoping to escape from Sprint somehow, because sometimes I get a little wary of the way my soul has been signed away and the bill keeps on rising inexorably, even though my Sprint phone is useless where I work, unable to detect a signal through the concrete. Everyone else's phone works there, but not mine. So I thought perhaps I would get away and switch, although all the phone companies are just sprouts off the root of ultimate evil, I know. Now that I'll have to somehow come up with another phone I can't afford, that plan is doomed, because every time you do anything at all with Sprint, like walk in the door of their "store" or whisper the word Sprint at midnight on a full moon, your contract mysteriously becomes two years longer. You know this because bats fly down the chimney and drop the new one, full of two point Gothic type, signed in blood and trailing a few sacrificial feathers, in your kitchen. Sprint has me forever and they know it. I heard the eldritch laughter and saw the puff of brimstone when I pulled the phone from the dryer.

Damn it.