It’s not a pleasant phenomenon, but lately I’ve been noticing bird carrion everywhere I go. (How’s that for a lead?) First, there was one on the balcony, decapitated, that Mr. Glib had to clean up (yes, I gave him rubber gloves). Then there was one in our back driveway. And I’ve seen two in the past half-week or so, just prostrate on the sidewalk, in varied stage of mutilation.
I resisted Googling this trend, which would have certainly confirmed it a sign of the apocalypse. Each time I passed a poor little feathered friend, I offered up hopes that they would come back in the next life as a higher life form – a family dog, perhaps, or Fergie.
But this weekend, I finally put two and two together. The rash of dead avians is in direct proportion with the amount of careless iPhone incidents I’ve had. Four dead birds, four iPhone incidents. Note that numbers 3 and 4 occurred within THREE DAYS OF ONE ANOTHER.
1. My phone dropped out of my pocket and slid across the bedroom. Mild pixel damage.
2. My phone dropped out of my hand at work, landed just wrong on the carpet, and lost half the screen, including the keyboard. Luckily my touch memory was enough that I could still text.
3. With parts from two different phones and some assistance from the fine folks at Chicago Smart Phone Repair, I was back in business. So back, in fact, that I spend my former boss’s birthday party (Monday) texting and ESPN’ing about the Cardinals game (wild-card race, people!). Fake-annoyed, said former boss takes my phone away to the dance floor. Drops it. Multiple times. At least he paid for the new LCD and glass screen…
4. …which were summarily waterlogged fewer than 24 hours later (Thursday) when the phone toppled out of the back pocket of new jeans into – where else – the toilet. Ironically (or not), I had just tucked the phone in my pocket to keep it out of harm’s way on a tabletop.
Before anyone comments, I am not taking this lightly. Each incident was met with increasing degrees of self-recrimination and sadness. Yes, I am klutzy and irresponsible and should have a Nokia flip phone from 1999. I’m well aware. But it’s also the birds’ fault.
The scarier part is – I’m not alone. My friend Molly spotted a dead bird on her patio mere days before injuring her iPhone screen.
The bigger coincidence? The new iPhone is set to be announced tomorrow, and those of us with phones on their eighth or ninth life will have little option but to “ooooh, ahhhh,” and buck up for the privilege of pre-ordering the next generation.
I’m not saying Steve Jobs is spending his medical leave sending all of us grim feathered harbingers of doom, but I bet there’s an app for that.