Now that consumers have learned to their chagrin that simply holding their iPhone4 wonder toys can lead to dropped calls, they may wish to really drop them – if only for a fateful second. If that should happen, it’s nice to know that a friendly independent repair shop is just around the corner.
Namby R. Pamby never realized that he and the legendary Darth Vader might have something in common. One day, he was using his newest wonder toy, Apple’s iPhone4, as – of all things – a phone, and he suddenly dropped a call. Around the corner, conveniently as it happened, was an independent repair shop. Mr. Pamby walked in, obviously upset, and when asked, handed his distressed gadget to an expert service technician behind the counter. The technician, observant for a geek, noticed the tell-tale sign.
“Do you always hold your iPhone 4 like that,” he said.
The geek was suddenly transformed into a know-it-all superhero, minus the cape and tights. “That’s the classic ‘death-grip’ that’s been going around,” he said, full of certainty, “You weren’t holding the phone correctly.”
Improperly chastened, Mr. Pamby felt unjustly proud. No one had ever accused him of having a death grip. Namby was intrigued at the potential of being considered all-powerful – like Darth Vader. Still, he’d inexplicably dropped a call. He wanted to know why.
Mr. Pamby’s look, a visage both subservient and dominant simultaneously, demanded an explanation from the service technician.
“When you hold it that way, it blocks the antenna’s reception,” the counter geek explained, “It’s a wraparound antenna unique to the iPhone4.”
The call was important. It was a direct communication with Namby’s mother, Pammy Pamby. Feeling a sudden surge of omnipotent rage, Namby Pamby inexplicably hurled his iPhone against the opposite wall. “It’s supposed to be a phone!” he screamed in his soft, sweet way – a strange and awe-inspiring sound you had to hear to believe. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.
The geek calmly picked up the phone, its view screen suddenly shattered, and intoned in his most compassionate voice tone, “It’s okay. We can fix it. Come back in an hour.”
Namby R. Pamby walked into a nearby Starbucks, a ubiquitous one, and drowned his sorrows in a gentle mocha. When some time had elapsed, he re-entered the independent repair shop not knowing what to expect.
“It’s fixed,” said the expert service technician. The now contrite Mr. Pamby was all coffee-colored smiles. “Be careful with that death grip,” the service technician warned, “You’re no Vader.”