Support from home makes all this possible

At first I thought it was a personal message.

“Your memory is running low!” read the text that flashed repeatedly across my phone.

No, kidding, I thought. You try having four sons, a husband, two cats, a new book and weekly deadlines and see how much memory you’ve got.

But then Facebook shut down. So did Twitter. Even my Tetris game refused to load. Tech support (my 15-year-old son) advised deleting photos and videos to free up space, but even then the message flashed: “Your memory is running low.”

“You need a new phone,” Sam said.

I collapsed on my bed. “Noooooo! Anything but that!” I wailed.

A quick scan of newspaper files revealed that it’s been two years since my last cellphone column. So, tech support was right. It was time for my biennial new phone purchase followed by my biennial “I hate new phones” column.

At the cellphone store, the sales clerk tried to talk me into an expensive phone with more bells, whistles and apps than I could ever use. “It’s like the new iPhone,” he enthused.

“No,” I said. Unzipping my purse, I showed him my dilemma. “That’s too big. I want one that fits into this pocket.”

He looked at me. He looked at my purse. “So, your main criteria is size?”

I nodded. “If you have one in pink or red that would be nice, too.”

Sighing, he picked up an inexpensive model. “This should work. It’s just like your old one, but newer and faster.”

Sensing my next query, he added, “And you can buy a phone cover in whatever color you choose in the little kiosk out in the mall.”

“Sold,” I said.

He rang up my purchase and sent me on my way. Or tried to anyway.

A few feet from the exit, I turned around. “Wait. How do I make a call?” I asked.

He beckoned me back to the counter and showed me the green button with a picture of a phone on it. “Just touch that.”

“How do …” He cut me off, pointing to the little envelope icon that said messaging. “Text here, and this little globe is for Internet.”

I noted that this time he didn’t say “Come again, soon,” when I left the store.

At the phone accessory kiosk, I purchased a sparkly red cover. Then I texted my husband; “Got a new phone. Please call.”

Minutes later the phone shuddered, shook and beeped. My husband was calling, but I couldn’t figure out how to answer. After a series of trial and errors I mastered both making and receiving calls.

Pleased, I headed toward the exit and passed the mall’s empty choo choo train, making a dispirited loop, engineered by a bored teenager. Oh, I want to take a picture of that! I thought.

I reached for my phone, but couldn’t figure out how to use the camera.

Back to the store I went. The clerk greeted me with considerably less enthusiasm. “Need help with Facebook, Twitter or the App Store?” he asked.

“Nope,” I replied. “I can’t find the camera.”

Somewhat grimly he pointed to camera icon and walked me through using it. I don’t think he appreciated the picture of his feet that I posted to Facebook, but he did appreciate it when I told him I had a teenager who could help me with any further questions.

Once home, Sam tolerated my hysterics when I realized all of my saved texts were gone and patted my shoulder when I found my voicemails were still there. “Just wait,” he said to his older brother. “She’ll complain for weeks and then she’ll say, “Oh, this is the BEST phone EVER! I don’t know WHY I waited so long to upgrade.”

Tech support comes with a snark app at my house.

And he was wrong, I didn’t complain for weeks! In fact I’ve had my new phone for a couple months and all was fine until I accidentally added a friend’s number to a spam file. I didn’t even know I HAD a spam file!

I tried all afternoon to unspam him, but I ended up having to wait for tech support to get home from school. Then I had to have my friend repeatedly text me, so I could make sure he was unspammed. I haven’t heard from him since. I wonder if he’s added me to his spam file.

My phone and I have reached an uneasy truce. Unlike Sam’s prediction, I don’t think it’s the BEST phone EVER, but I am thankful my old one gave up the ghost. It’s provided me with the perfect excuse for any lapses. “I’m sorry,” I say. “But my memory is running low.”