May you Rest In Peace.
It’s probably a bit unusual for me to have had just one cell phone number in my entire life, but that is specifically what happened. I got it from Sprint at the end of 1998, and its last day of life is today. It survived almost ten years, through good times and bad. And so, if I may… (and I may, because it’s my blog), I would like to honor its memory:
When I first got you (703) 599-9419, I was a bright-eyed college grad, fresh off a two-month cross-country trip around the United States with two girlfriends. You and I came together at a Sprint store and you first lived on a bright blue Nokia phone with a Jetsons decal. Because I am so clever. I had just shed my college boyfriend, freeing him to marry my college best friend. And I started a job at a “big” law firm in D.C., excited about the prospect of taking the Metro every day (after illegally parking my car in front of Summer’s parent’s house), making a little money and wearing very short red skirt suits. Which I did. In full force. I was called AllyMcBeal, and it was a highlight. You have to remember what 22-year old bodies look like. I had no idea how to text message. Did people text message back then? But I could use you to call my new crush, Bryan, my friend Becky who was my constant social companion in those days, and Kate, for hours on end. Because of free Sprint-to-Sprint calling of course. (703) is such a big part of who I am. Northern Virginia 4-eva. There are few W-L High School grads that don’t bleed blue and grey. And that’s not because our sports teams were good. So when I took the big leap to move to Brooklyn in 2002 to attend law school, well (703) 599-9419, I brought you with me. It was a defining decision. Even when I succumbed and got a New York driver’s license, I did not leave you behind. And we forgave each other a lot. You let me drop the phones you lived in an average of twice a day, sometimes on concrete, once in a toilet, once to a criminal lurking at Target. I let your parents, Sprint PCS, do terrible things to me, for almost a decade. But we persevered.
So long, good friend.