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 It was not one of my best days. Deciding to do some washing, at the last minute I added my corduroy trousers (pants, if you’re American) into the washing machine, and it was only two hours later, after a persistent thump-thump noise finally impinged on my consciousness, that I realized that I’d left my super-duper iPhone in the pocket of those trousers.

After my initial panic I raced to the machine, opened it and extracted the unfortunate device, now sodden and somewhat battered.



Then began a series of rescue attempts. I had heard of miracle cures, such as putting the phone in the oven on a very low setting overnight, putting it in rice to extract the water, and we tried all those. It was a sunny day, so we lay the phone on the carpet in the hope that the sun would do its work and dry the poor waterlogged thing out.

But it was all to no avail. The phone seemed to be past all the help that we could provide. This called therefore for professional intervention.

We checked the local directory and asked friends and acquaintances for recommendations, and were sent to a local laboratory that apparently has a good reputation.

Tzach, the technician behind the desk, opened the phone and showed us that it was still waterlogged, but said he would do his best to restore it to its fully functioning former self. Luckily, my previous phone, a somewhat inferior version, was still in existence. So I retrieved it from the drawer in which it had been languishing since being superseded by its successor, the precious SIM card was transferred from the new phone to the old one, and I was sent away with hope in my heart that my suffering at having to endure this humiliating demotion would not persist for very long.

But many of the features to which I had become accustomed in the newer phone were unavailable in the old one, whether because of my own technical ineptitude or the phone’s inherent weakness. After having become accustomed to checking how far I had walked, how many steps I had taken or how many flight of stairs I had climbed, it was something of a blow not to have that feature constantly at my fingertips. Furthermore, being deprived of such features as constant weather updates, and, more importantly, Whatsapp, wherein reside the groups to which I belong, such as my close family, and the various language groups I attend, as well as being the site where photos of my latest grandchild are posted for my delectation as well as that of others, caused me real suffering. I was cut off from the virtual world to which I felt I belonged.

Phone calls to Tzach during the following week were met with the response that he was still working on the renewal project or was waiting for an essential part, and that I should be patient.

But eventually even he, a universally acknowledged magician in the field of mobile phone repair, was obliged to admit defeat. The only known remedy in such cases is to buy a new phone, which can be an expensive business. This was eventually resolved by taking advantage of the reduced offer made by one of the purveyors of these devices, and this procedure was followed by returning to Tzach and the lab in order to have all the features without which life is not worth living installed in the new device.

Once again, the SIM card was transferred from old to new, the device was told to start itself up, passwords were reinstalled, and eventually I was the proud possessor of a newer, faster, lighter but slightly smaller phone.

Once again I am a happy bunny. And I will have to try to be a more careful one in the future.


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