It costs as much as an apartment and yet provides very little of such comfort.
It forces me to take pictures, just to prove that it’s good for something, but the end results never minimize the guilt of owning an over-priced gadget that I loathe with all my might.
The energy I expend each time I realize how much longer it takes to get the charge up to an adequate percentage — should be bundled into the wires that are programmed to short-circuit — just in time for the scheduled upgrade.
I hate my iphone 6 because I loved my iPhone 4.
It was the super duper machine that restored my faith in techies worldwide. Such stylized perfection that demanded nothing more than my loyalty and monetary promise to “handle-with-care.”
The payback was the ability to enjoy durability of sleekness and functionality with the bonus of nicely amplified conversations and the pleasure of not having Siri’s tantrums interrupt my playlist.
It was a match-made in Apple heaven that was initiated by a former lover. He didn’t stick around, but it was a manageable disappointment. Who needs to dramatize the verses to love songs when you can cuddle with your personalized soundtrack.
Encased in a glass template that hinted at imminent vulnerability, my favorite thing ever suffered a violent fate that brought an abrupt end to normalcy — and my belief in what I assumed was a dependable trait.
All the others have failed to measure up to their predecessor.
The iphone 5 perished in torment as bit by bit it fell apart as if my fingers were attacking its need to fight for survival. The timing was suspect. Once the two-year mark approaches, the symptoms are more intense as the disease ravages sound, performance, and body.
I hate my iPhone 6 because I never got a chance to even like it.
The hype was a turn-off and my attitude reeked of distrust and pure annoyance. Another sucker trying to pretend that the latest is the greatest when in fact it was always going to lead to this.
Nothing amazing lasts forever, but damn, this ride ended a little sooner that I would’ve expected. Maybe your library of Instagram shots and modelesque postcards help to convince you that this thing you carry around is worth the shit.
I just want to be able to have a phone interview that doesn’t end with me uttering these words: “I’m so sorry about that!”
I hate the iphone charger. Guess why.