My Phone Died.

01 May My Phone Died.

I reached an entirely new level of crazy.

I considered asking a stranger to use her phone. To Instagram a picture.

Pause for effect. 

She wasn’t exactly a stranger, we were seated beside each other at my last Tribeca Film Festival screening that day and she complimented my necklace. So, we’re practically besties. But it was important that I Instragram a picture from this event, so that the fine folks who invited the site I write for knew we were there in some form or fashion.

My boss needed to know I was there. Like, I had valid, important things to do. My phone died and I no way of sending updates to social media. Or confirming dinner plans with my roomie and her friends (I’m in, yall! I’m meeting all of the friends!). Or, recording the Q+A after the film showed so I could take notes while I listened and transcribe everything the next morning.

Even now, I’m scribbling this post in a notebook. My work notebook. With a pink pen. While a wait for my phone to come back on since I finally found a place to charge my phone after wandering up and down Chambers Street so I could call my roommate and apologize to her friends and let them know I do have manners. But my phone just won’t let me be great.

I will say, that not having my phone, made me hyperaware as I watched Greetings From Tim Buckley. I couldn’t believe that Dan could sing, I was aware of what the audience responded too and made note of it and weirdly enough, I realized I could smell the girl next to me (I do have a dog nose, though) and she smelled like curry. The woes of Millenials, I’ll tell you.

I wish iPhones had batteries so I could just carry multiple.

I told my boss that my phone died right before I snapped Penn Badgley’s picture on the red carpet. Her response?

You don’t carry back up? A pen and paper? She asked incredulously. I do, actually, I have a specific work notebook (where I wrote this post), I just like the security of having the audio to backup my quotes.

Again, her response?

How do you think they did it in the old days? She then relayed a story to me where she was the only media outlet granted access to a Madonna concert and her phone AND her fancy recorder died. So she wrote her quotes verbatim on cocktail napkins.

Oy. New York is going to make a legit journalist out of me yet.