J is for Jinxed Phones
Our phone reception up here on the mountain is pitiful. When I take or make a call I have to stand on the front lawn with the snakes, and even then the phone screeches out a really weird, extra-terrestrial type of sound before dropping out completely.
Not very good for a relief teacher who waits for phone calls, is it? There’s a 2 centimetre square area on my bedside table where the signal is good but if I pick up the phone it dies an instant death.
It’s not just my service provider either. If you look up and down our street after 5:00pm you can spot various neighbours shuffling on the footpath with their phone pressed up against their ear and an irate expression on their faces.
Of course we could get a home phone but I don’t remember how to use one. I’d probably garotte myself by attempting to walk around with the cord wrapped around my throat.
Scotto’s phone has been possessed by an evil entity. He was out on a computer job today and his phone took it upon itself to send his boss (who’d sent him out on the job) a text saying, “I’m at the cinema.”
His boss texted back, “That’s nice. What are you seeing?”
Funny, eh? It took Scotto a while to notice the text had gone through before he could scramble out an explanation to his boss.
If his phone had texted me that message instead, I would have instantly thought,
1. Since when do you call it a ‘cinema’, you peculiar person?
2. Who has kidnapped my husband and is using antiquated, bizarre words?
3. Should I call the police and report an abduction or should I let Scotto get himself out of this one because any kidnapper who uses the word ‘cinema’ must be a tiny bit refined or at least have one foot in the grave and the other on a banana skin?
Or I’d have thought Scotto was having an affair with an eighty-five year old and arranging a date at Morning Melodies.
We usually refer to it as the ‘movies’. And we say it with an Austen Powers’ inflection as in, “Do you fancy going to the mmmmooooooovies?”
I’m sorry if any of you do actually call it the cinema. The ‘pitchers’ is another acceptable term, but I’d never use the word, cinema.
Recently, my auto-correct sent a silly text to a Catholic school principal who I’d only just met and who’d kindly given me some work.
I texted, “Thanks very much, Barbera* :).”
Which auto correct promptly changed to, “Thanks very much, Beelzebub :).”
You know who Beelzebub is, right? He’s the bloody devil, the Dark Lord, the fallen angel, Lucifer.
It was bloody embarrassing because then I had to send another text apologising which made me look like a very unprofessional, over-anxious and dithering fool of a woman.
How and why did auto-correct think I was communicating with Satan? It’s not like he’s on my call register or anything.
No doubt they’ll be keeping a close eye on me tomorrow when I rock up for my first day at work. It’s the story of my life, really.
* Not really her real name because I never use anyone’s real name on my blog except for Scotto and even his name is heavily disguised. (It's Scott in case you were wondering.)
What’s the worst accidental text you’ve sent or heard about?
Not very good for a relief teacher who waits for phone calls, is it? There’s a 2 centimetre square area on my bedside table where the signal is good but if I pick up the phone it dies an instant death.
It’s not just my service provider either. If you look up and down our street after 5:00pm you can spot various neighbours shuffling on the footpath with their phone pressed up against their ear and an irate expression on their faces.
Of course we could get a home phone but I don’t remember how to use one. I’d probably garotte myself by attempting to walk around with the cord wrapped around my throat.
Scotto’s phone has been possessed by an evil entity. He was out on a computer job today and his phone took it upon itself to send his boss (who’d sent him out on the job) a text saying, “I’m at the cinema.”
His boss texted back, “That’s nice. What are you seeing?”
Funny, eh? It took Scotto a while to notice the text had gone through before he could scramble out an explanation to his boss.
If his phone had texted me that message instead, I would have instantly thought,
1. Since when do you call it a ‘cinema’, you peculiar person?
2. Who has kidnapped my husband and is using antiquated, bizarre words?
3. Should I call the police and report an abduction or should I let Scotto get himself out of this one because any kidnapper who uses the word ‘cinema’ must be a tiny bit refined or at least have one foot in the grave and the other on a banana skin?
Or I’d have thought Scotto was having an affair with an eighty-five year old and arranging a date at Morning Melodies.
We usually refer to it as the ‘movies’. And we say it with an Austen Powers’ inflection as in, “Do you fancy going to the mmmmooooooovies?”
I’m sorry if any of you do actually call it the cinema. The ‘pitchers’ is another acceptable term, but I’d never use the word, cinema.
Recently, my auto-correct sent a silly text to a Catholic school principal who I’d only just met and who’d kindly given me some work.
I texted, “Thanks very much, Barbera* :).”
Which auto correct promptly changed to, “Thanks very much, Beelzebub :).”
You know who Beelzebub is, right? He’s the bloody devil, the Dark Lord, the fallen angel, Lucifer.
It was bloody embarrassing because then I had to send another text apologising which made me look like a very unprofessional, over-anxious and dithering fool of a woman.
How and why did auto-correct think I was communicating with Satan? It’s not like he’s on my call register or anything.
No doubt they’ll be keeping a close eye on me tomorrow when I rock up for my first day at work. It’s the story of my life, really.
* Not really her real name because I never use anyone’s real name on my blog except for Scotto and even his name is heavily disguised. (It's Scott in case you were wondering.)
What’s the worst accidental text you’ve sent or heard about?
