Friends by numbers

Never have I been so entrenched in a totally gay ritual as I was today.

Had a kind of half day at work—we do this summer Friday kind of thing to get a jump on getting wasted and sunburned on the weekend. I spent my afternoon at the Apple store getting my new 3GS.

The store is a 10-minute walk from my office in SoHo. I reserved my snazzy new phone last week so as to be guaranteed a place in this slowly moving parade. I stood in a line. Me. I never stand in lines. I cut. I bribe. I sneak in through back doors. Today I stood in line. Maybe it was because I just had a xanax prescription refilled and was totally chilled.

The Apple replecants guiding the line said a 25-minute wait, tops. I was inside within 5. I pretended to be a hander outer of the free bottled water they were giving out and then slipped the “bouncer” a $20.

Sweet!

The let me into the store and, as they do for each group of 5-10 people they let in exclusively for the new 3GS, the staff starts clapping for us. This is where the Apple shows its peach. Total va-ja-ja, as if we’re all sharing our period at the same time. Which, if you think about it, isn’t so different from the Apple product cycle. Isn’t that cool!?

No.

Men with braces slinking up to me to reveal the sensuality of the new iPhone is not—in my humble opinion—exactly a lap dance.

Give me my goddamn phone and don’t junk up the trunk with people clapping when they could be translating the 300 contacts from my old— which turned out to be untranslatable— piece of shit Verizon phone.

Now I have to configure SIM cards, nudge a new W-Fi network and figure out a way to hook up in the future. I’ve lost all my numbers. This is tragic. I’ve lost Roxanne’s number. JJ’s #, even though that’s probably a gain more than a loss.

I’ve lost valuable and forward thinking digits. All for the most ultimate piece of techno one can palm.

Is it worth it? I guess we’ll see. Who would ever once have thought a new phone could seismically alter a languishing social life?

Me.