Dear Messrs Sony and Ericsson,
How does this day find you? Are you well? Are you floating along in a bubble of telecommunicative wizardry, connected to all and sundry, hearing and making yourselves heard with aplomb?
That must be nice.
This woman is an innocent. I have no idea who she is
I write to you today, Mr Sony, Mr Ericsson with a tale of emotional and temporal woe. That’s emotions and time, Mr Ericsson. It’s a perhaps unconventional use of the word ‘temporal’, however I feel the situation calls for such things. I am a maverick, my good sirs, and the English language is my wild eyed steed.
However my tale of woe does not concern horses. That’s an altogether different tale of woe, one that leaves me with a wistful, melancholy glaze in my one remaining eye. No, this tale of woe has to do with a feat of Machiavellian evil so cunning and exact that it must have been created in some kind of laboratory. Perhaps the same laboratory THAT YOU TWO GENTLEMEN USE TO CREATE YOUR MOBILE PHONES!
Some time ago, I made the decision to repeat a mistake I have often made in the past. I took on a contract that required me to own a Sony Ericsson handset. ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ I hear you think, and for you chaps there may not be. I imagine you chaps to have top of the line handsets, with LCD displays filled with the tears of virgins and buttons made of ivory. There is no ivory in my Sony Ericsson X8. There are no virginal tears. There are only my tears. And I am technically not a virgin.
Why I repeated this mistake, I do not know. I have owned a W880i (snapped), a C902 (worse than malaria) and another one, the number of which I forget, which I submerged in warm beer in a fit of rage after the 14th dropped call of the evening. The call was about dogs, if I remember correctly, but it could have been important. I could have won a prize, sirs, and you could have ruined that.
Now, in the latest telephonic faux pas made by myself - and I do not like referring to myself as ‘myself’ - I have been lumbered with the Sony Ericsson X8. Such wild promises the box made! ‘It makes calls’, it said. ‘It sends texts’, it breathed to me softly as it stroked my hair and lulled me into a state of almost sexual compliance. This was the phone for me, chaps. This was the phone I would make my wife.
Then the arguments started. X8 would not make calls. I reasoned with her. She was impervious to my reason. Then she stopped sending texts. Then she crashed whenever I opened an application. Then she decided on her own ringtone volume, disregarding my plaintive murmuring. In fact the only good thing this handset does - and ‘good’ is a stretch, my friends - is ringing THE WRONG PEOPLE NO MATTER WHAT I DO! I don’t know if you’ve ever called your own mother whilst trying to arrange an evening with a lady, gentlemen, but it is not an experience I’d care to repeat. I heard some things that evening that changed me. Bad things. You can imagine the rest, I would just rather you didn’t.
This brings me to my point. The point I have been ambling towards. You may feel I am wasting your time, however I feel as if I can take as much of your time as I deem fit, given that your almost perfectly awful phone takes an hour a day from me. It really feels like it would have been easier, more cost effective and cheaper to make a phone that works. Or at least to have sold me two cans with a piece of string between them and not lied to my poor, wretched face.
I have had the phone for around 60 days - this is an estimate that is favourable to you. I am not unreasonable - and it has wasted, I would say, an average of 46 minutes a day of my precious, wonderful time. This means that you, Mr Sony and Mr Ericsson, owe me 2,760 minutes. I will discount the 12 minutes this blog would have taken to read, and round down a little, to make this a cool 2,740 minutes, GMT. I wish for these minutes to be returned to me, my good sirs, for I can hear them. They call me. They shriek at night such awful things as ‘we could have learned to knit by now’ and ‘you never did learn to make quiche’. These minutes are anguished, sirs, and I wish to answer their cries.
I leave it up to you to develop the means to return these minutes to me. However I really must insist this is made top priority. I think the phone is aware of how I feel, and if she reads this I may not have long left.
I leave this in your capable hands,