Even more unfortunate was my realization that all of my contacts were (by default) stored on the iPhone's internal drive, and not the SIM card. And my subsequent realization that even though I'd backed up those contacts on iTunes, iTunes wouldn't show them to me without a functional iPhone plugged in (cute, Apple, very cute...no, I won't buy a new iPhone). And my final realization that I... don't... know... ANYBODY'S... phone number any more.
Even when I logged onto my account online and viewed my last cell phone bill, I barely recognized any of the numbers in my call history. Without a name attached to them, they were pretty much meaningless to me. Bad news.
It used to be that I knew all of my friends' phone numbers--I still remember all of the home phone numbers of my childhood friends, many of which have been defunct for years now. Now, since changing my phone number a few months back, I barely even know my own. It's a strange shift, and not necessarily a good one. The more we entrust to our electronic devices, the less self-sufficient we become (or at least, feel).
With smartphones, this dynamic becomes even more pronounced. We use our phones as calendars, Rolodexes (wait till I try to explain those things to my kids), checkbook balancers (and, for that matter, checkbooks), notepads, alarm clocks, flashlights, video game consoles, maps, compasses, encyclopedias, e-mail machines, remote controls, and I don't even know what else. When they malfunction, drown, or we simply forget to charge them, we find ourselves lost and confused in a cold, cruel world.
It was therefore somewhat refreshing to be forced to track down my old contacts and revert to the slightly-less-smart phone that I used pre-iPhone. I'd forgotten what my life was like before my iPhone took over, and it turns out I was capable of getting out of bed and tying my shoes back then after all. Who knew?
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