hoo, boy...
This one takes me back. It was about the time when I received my second mobile phone. Prior to this one, I'd only had a Nokia 3310. My father told me I could have a better phone, once I'd shown I was mature and sensible enough to have a phone. Eventually, I'd proven to him that I was not only mature and sensible enough to have a better one, I was mature and sensible enough to have the BEST one.
I forget what it was, since it was a while ago, and I'm not the best guy to speak to when it comes to phones. Anyway, at the time, it was an absolutely amazing thing to behold. Small, sleek, silver and slidy, it was possibly the best piece of technology that my pubescent eyes had seen.
Now, as any phone does, it had a lot of phonecalls to look forward to. And by "a lot", I mean "not very many". For one afternoon, I got a phonecall from my friend, who asked me to meet up. It was Summer, so I was dying to meet up with some chums, and have some banter. However, the invitation was pretty short notice, and I had to meet within ten minutes of getting the call. So I ran over to his house.
On the way, though, I had to cross the busiest highway in my area. When I ran across, my beautiful little phone slipped out of my pocket, and clattered dully onto the road. As I turned my head and gasped, melodramatically, I saw (not a car, not a van, not a lorry but) an eighteen wheeler truck plowing into my phone. As soon as it drove by, I stared at the road. There it was. My lovely little phone's crippled carcass scattered all across the road.

R.I.P. Patrick the phone, 2003-2003. ;'(
(almightyjoey is most likely listening to Electric Wizard on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 23:22, 3 replies)

Mates and Prank Calls.
When I was a lot younger, around 10 years ago, I got my first mobile phone. A Mitsubishi Trium Geo with a flippy cover for the keypad and extendable aerial thingy! I thought it looked awesome at the time but Most of my friends had got the Nokia 3210 which honestly looked about a million times better. Now this being my first mobile phone, and being about the time that everyone had to get one and be constantly txting 24/7 to all their mates, I quickly accrued a nice tally of phone numbers, especially from some lady friends.

Now I had been doing the usual "text a girl that you fancy and tell her things you can't tell her in person cos you're a shy cunt" thing and such, and even managed to get a girlfriend or two. Around this time, me and my best friend that I had been friends with since we were 5, had met 3 girls and all kinds of flirty shenanigans went on during the summer and such.

Then it happened.

One day during school, at lunchtime i had got up to go for a slash, and apparently my phone had dropped out of my pocket and my mates took it upon themselves to constantly do the phone & hangup about 20 times to one of the girls I fancied. This resulted in an angry voicemail from one of the other girls, which only spurred on my friends to then start sending her some exceptionally nasty text messages, many of which apparently her mum even read.

Cue me getting home from school later that afternoon to a bunch of txts from my friend, asking what the hell I was playing at and how this girl was in tears and the other 2 never wanted to see me again etc. The worst part of this was that my supposed "Best Friend" decided to take the girls' side of the argument, and no amount of explaining and apologizing on my part was going to make any of them believe me. So I had become a Pariah within that particular circle of friends, although I had come to realise that 2 of my other friends were trying to get in their collective knickers, and probably saw that getting me out of the way was to their benefit, even though they knew that I wasn't the one doing the deed.

10 years down the road and said girl hasn't said a word to me, although my friend apparently was godfather of her baby, although he's barely said much to me either in the intervening years. I later learnt that the 2 other guys had been slowly turning him against me before that incident anyway, as I found out he'd been saying some rather nasty shit about me.

Being cast out of that group I eventually fell in with my 2 current best mates, who liked to partake in the smoky green leaf on a rather regular basis. So it wasn't necessarily a great loss to me in the grand scheme of things. It was especially hilarious when a few months later her boyfriend, who she'd told all about that incident, threatened to beat me up. Now I'm by no means a big fella, just shy of 6 feet tall, but having been bullied a great deal during my first 2 years at school I'd started hitting the gym rather often, as well as taking up kickboxing, this guy was probably less than 5'6" and very slight, and quickly cacked his pants when he finally ran into me and started mouthing off, only to receive a fist to the mouth.

The moral of this story is,

Teenagers: Cunts.
(Spackles Made sexual advances in your general direction on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 23:13, 1 reply)

Blah..
My oldest friend (in that I've known him all my life, not my friend who is 80) has a habit of losing phones whenever he's on the piss. It usually just means going to the Optus store (I'm Aussie..) the next day and getting a new phone with the same number, but occasionally there are some funny stories..

One New Years a while back, around the time when camera-phones were the latest thing, we had a rather messy night out, afore-mentioned mate stayed at my place, and lost his brand-spanking new camera phone. A new phone is bought and all is forgotten until about August when, on another boozy night, the same friend decides it'd be funny to switch the gas mains off in my flat. Turns out it wasn't particularly funny, and just meant that I had to crawl under the stairs out the back of my flat to relight the pilot on the hot water service.
As I'm making my way out from under the stairs, I spot a battery and SIM card, and after a little more searching the rest of a rather battered camera-phone. Quite excited, I called out to my mate that I had a present for him, and when I got back inside I presented him with his old phone, which miraculously still worked.
We spent the rest of the night looking over all the photos and videos from New Years, none of which we could remember..


Another time, after getting pissed off about losing so many phones, he bought a pouch for his phone and attached it to his pants with a little chain.
What happened? That's right, he went to a party and woke up without his phone. Or his pants.

Also, he keeps all his old phone chargers. Has about 40 of the bastards.
(r0ach, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 22:58, 1 reply)

I am a twat.
To show my commitment to this QOTW, I'll tell a story that shows just how big a bloody imbecile I am.

I am a bit of a phone slag to be honest. I can be in a relationship with a phone for all of three months and my eye will start to wander. One minute I'll have a slim white one, then I'll want a big black one, then I'll want a yellow one that vibrates.

On this particular occasion I wanted a Nokia. Can't remember which one, not important. I was strapped for cash but had a few phones floating around I didn't use and on ebay I find a bloke looking to swap the phone I want "for any reasonable offer", his name being purpleza19 (still remember it to this bloody day). I emailed him and asked if I could swap two of my old phones for his. Now ebay doesn't strictly operate as a swap shop, and so it became more of a casual agreement. The agreement was that I post one of the phones, then he posts the one I want, then I post the second. That seemed to be the fairest way around it. So, I post the first one and the next day I get an email from him thanking me for it, and that the phone was in the post. So what do I do upon reading this? Gallop down the post office and post off the second one. Of course, he'd never posted his phone, meaning the score was now him 3, me 0.

Had I left it there I could have just limped away as a common or garden twat. But oh no, I had to go and make the bold leap to the level of supertwat. After several unanswered emails I wrote some piss poor excuse of a threatening letter saying I had an uncle who was a lawyer, the usual shite.

The problem is, starting a letter "Dear "purpleza19", if that IS your real name..." isn't exactly going to strike fear into the hearts of evildoers everywhere.

To this day, I am so astounded at my own idiocy, it makes me do a little poo.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 22:50, 2 replies)

Ten years or so ago
When I'd not long got involved with teh internets and also was on my first mobile phone, I arranged a Christmas meal after a match so some of us who had got to know each other on a certain football club's internet mailing list could finally meet up in meatspace.

The meal went really well, it was great, lovely (yet reasonably priced) Italian restaurant, fantastic food and wine.

Someone's phone rang. They had what anywhere else - home, office, supermarket, train - would have been a distinctive ringtone.

Not so distinctive on this particular evening, though. Of the 20 or so people sat round the table, I think 19 had Go West by the Pet Shop Boys (aka One Nil To the Arsenal) set as their ringtone (the 20th person didn't have a mobile).

Billy The Kid wouldn't have stood a chance in the quick-draw stakes as everyone whipped their mobile out...
(Capo, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 22:20, 1 reply)

I'm a silly bastard at the best of times.
I have returned from visiting my parents and my daughter (she's with them for the summer) in the Adirondacks. I have to share this incident with you...

I went into town one morning to wander about and see what all had changed since I was last there, and as I walked down Main Street I passed by a yard sale. Still being unemployed and broke, I didn't have money to spare- but for amusement's sake I looked around anyway. Loads of stuff that I had no use for, of course, though I was briefly tempted by a matching pair of 1960s armchairs upholstered in orange vinyl... and then I went around the side of the house and found something I couldn't at first identify.

It was a pair of identical statues, about as tall as my finger and carved out of some very hard black wood- possibly ebony. They were lying there on top of a box, back to back, but when I picked them up I burst out laughing.

They were this guy.

I closed them in my hand and went to the woman running the yard sale. "Excuse me, but these weren't marked. How much are they?" And I opened my hand.

The woman's eyes grew three times bigger and never left my palm. "Julie? JULIE!"

A pretty girl in her twenties appeared. "Yes, Mom?" And then she too looked at my hand and turned a very fetching shade of pink as she giggled.

"Okay, I just have to ask..."

"They're an Egyptian fertility god named Ileh Tanasul. I bought them while I was on my honeymoon."

"And they worked!" another woman piped up as she held a baby. "This is her son!"

Everyone on the porch was laughing now. "I had to get rid of them because I'm not ready for another one," Julie said. "Are you sure you want to get those?"

I gave her a dirty leer. "No problem there, I'm fixed."

More laughter, and Julie said, "I dunno- fifty cents for the pair."

"Sold!"

I returned to my parents' camp, still grinning. "Hey Mom, remember when you came back from New Guinea and brought me a penis protector?"

"Yeah." Mom looked a little wary.

"Here, I got you something fitting in return..."

After I told her the story of the yard sale ("You didn't identify yourself, did you?") I told her I was going to put them on a shelf in the camp so we could see how long it takes my sisters to notice them. Mom grinned and told me to go right ahead. At this point one stands directly behind a snarling wooden leopard and the other stands behind a carved wooden warthog with its tail lifted.

I foresee many years of a twisted version of Where's Waldo in our future.

This doesn't have anything to do with phones, does it? Ummmm... I was carrying my cell phone in my pocket the whole time, does that count?
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 22:20, 2 replies)

Italian Sendoff
Those of you who don't know me in person might well be unaware of my Italian ancestry -- it's an easy enough mistake, given my pasty Anglo-Irish features and distinctly Eastern European surname -- but those who do will know that I remain rather proud of my melting-pot cultural background. Part of that comes from having a large crowd of old Italians around when I was growing up, mostly friends of my grandparents: men and women who smelt funny and had strong, near-impenetrable accents; people who would chuckle and pinch your cheeks in the way the elderly don't realise the young hate.

As old Italians are wont to do, however, my grandparents' friends began to pass away, and funerals became more and more regular. At one point, having gone to two or three funerals of close friends in about the same number of months (all the while dealing with a husband who was coming out of a heart bypass operation), my Nonna decided she couldn't cope with going to these affairs alone anymore and asked my Dad to accompany her.

On a cold October morning, a large group of very Italian-looking men and women were standing around a graveside in the local cemetery, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth from all concerned. Another funeral, by all accounts very much a reserved, WASP-ish affair, was going on a few rows down. The two congregations couldn't look more different: one made up of prim, obviously upset but very reserved, stiff-upper-lip Anglicans; the other a group of slick-haired Mediterranean Catholics in dark suits and gold jewellery, the women openly shedding tears, the whole thing looking like something out of a Scorsese movie.

Then, all of a sudden, through the crisp, clear air sang out someone's mobile ringtone -- bad timing at best, but even worse when one of the younger members of the Italian group has gone with the ironic choice of Nino Rota's theme from The Godfather as his alert of choice at what can only have been close to full volume.

I wasn't there, but by all accounts the shocked looks from the other group of mourners were priceless, filled with worry that their dearly departed would be spending his eternal rest twenty yards or so away from Don Corleone (and whichever poor Mafia victim would be sharing the grave).

I'd apologise for length, but it's really the second movement that'll bring a tear to your eye.
(Ellinikos contains a source of phenylalanine, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 22:12, Reply)

Poor excuse...
My friend's cousin sms'ed her 'hey fancy some incest?' and then claimed a friend abused his mobile. Does anyone still use that excuse? Makes me wanna wring his neck it does!
(Rumbling Bear rumbled on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 21:53, 1 reply)

Its good idea...
..to delete the incriminating pics from your old phone before donating said handset to your parents...
Luckily my dad found them rather than me ma...

(Also, I too have dropped my phone into my own stinking arse produce)
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 21:49, Reply)

Also
having just read down a bit, I also fell into the trap of giving my mate a hold of my new sony ericsson w995 on saturday.

Checking the outbox when I got it back, he'd sent "Hi wanna meet up for a drink and SUM LUVIN? XXXXX!" to a girl I hardly know, "Hi I think I love u XXXX" to a female friend of mine and "Hi fancy some incest?" to my cousin.

Loads of backtracking ensued, compounded by the fact that two of them hadn't yet saved my new number.

I did wait for a reply from two of them before attempting to sort it out though, you never know.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 20:23, 2 replies)

My mates mobiles are ruining their lives
especially since I now have unlimited texts.

For the last 3 weeks I've been periodically sending them quotes from my favourite movies in text-speak. Predator is a good one to start with, and offers hours of fun-filled torture.

"Omg sh3 s3z da jngl3 jst c4m3 4liv3 n t00k er! WTF!"

"WTF h4pnz to u Dillon? U uzd 2 b sum1 I cud trst lol!"

Hours of fun. Hours and hours and hours.

They stopped replying after the first 2 or 3. Quitters :P
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 20:19, 2 replies)

The look on that kids face will stay with me forever.
A few months ago, I ventured to that London on a college trip for a few days. A fine time was had by all, despite the fact that we were mainly confined to the hostel due to a few slight riots that were going on about a mile away from us. Still.... we all got hammered and had a great time for 4 days.

On the way home I was sat next to one of the lads from my course and we got to chatting about a wide variety of amusing things. Eventually, we strayed into the territory of amusing videos and began swapping videos from our phones via bluetooth, when suddenly someone began sending us lots of crazy messages and videos. Hatching a fiendish plot, the guy I was next to devised a way to find out who it was. He sent a video he had of himself when he was younger, in which he emitted a high pitched and very loud laugh. As soon as the person played it, we'd hear it. It worked, and we discovered the irritant was a boy of around 12 sitting a few seats behind us.

The messages continued, bombarding my mates phone with constant videos and messages, when suddenly he realised how to stop it. You see, one of the videos I had given him was the highly disgusting "make your own mcflurry" one, containing a scene from two girls one cup. As soon as I realised what he was doing, I tried to reason with him but it was too late, he'd already sent it...... the bluetooth messages came to a sudden and abrupt halt.

About half an hour later, we arrived at newcastle and the train ground to a halt. A lot of people were getting off when the boy in question walked past our seats. He stopped and slowly, ever so very slowly turned and looked my mate in the eye. There was a look of abject horror on his face.

I don't think he'll be doing that again in a hurry. He wouldn't even wave back after he got off the train either.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 20:13, 4 replies)

Engagement
One wonderful christmas I returned home from Uni and proceeded to go out and get batfaced with my chums from the old home town. On this night I managed to charm a young lady (in actual fact she was retardedly drunk, and so as I leaned in to talk to her over the loud music, she attached herself to my face) and get her number. I spoke to her over the next couple of days and got the idea that she wasn't all there (like wanting to meet for a drink before work - at 10am. Meep!)

Anyway, Christmas eve rolls around, and I'm sat in the pub in what has become an annual praditional pub crawl. My brand new phone is sat on the table (Nokia 8310, it was that long ago), and I'm getting peoples numbers to out in it. One of my mates leans over and asks to look at the phone, me being prouder than a dad of a newborn, let them have a play.

As we leave and go to the next pub, I get a text from Strange girl saying something along the lines of 'Are you Serious?'.

eh? In my beer addled mind, I couldn't comprehend what she meant, and so asked her to explain her self.

In the mean time, we get to the next bar, and more beer was ingested. Her reply came in and sobered me up damn fast.

She wrote 'You just asked me to marry you'. And suddenly the penny dropped, I let her know it was in fact my loving mates who'd decided to ask her, and that I was sorry on their behalf. Thinking disater had been adverted, I tucked into another pint, then the dreaded vibration hit the leg. The message read as:

'Your friends are fucked up! Anyway, if you'd been serious, I'd have said yes.xxx'

Panic!

So I sort of got engaged on Christmas eve, via the power of message...
( Moonraker isn't the droid you were looking for, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 19:54, 1 reply)

A little to the left . . .
This happened one of the first times me and Greg stayed at his parents place. His parents had just gone out for the night, I was sitting on the kitchen counter, messing with stuff next to me. Greg was tugging at my skirt before the car had even pulled away. I carried on messing. A keyring, piece of newspaper, Gregs new phone. Brainwave.
"Hey Greg?"
"What?" (coming, muffled, from somewhere in between my boobs)
"Does this thing have a vibrate?" Never seen him move as fast as when he realised what I was getting at. Set the phone to vibrate, slipped it down the front of my undies. A-ma-zing. The thing that happened next could possibly be the worst thing (ever) to hear when you're about to cum via phone-in-the-pants.
"Greg, you seen my phone? I think I left it in there on the side."
Shit
What did we do? Gave him his phone back of course.
(MissUnexpectedNuttering Mad to live, Mad to talk, and burn, burn, burn...., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 19:52, Reply)

Bluejacking...
I used to commute between London and Norfolk and would amuse myself journeying home in the evenings by Bluejacking a generally packed train Carriage with messages like "Jesus knows when you masturbate" or "I'm watching you...".

Good times.
(mcnelson, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 19:38, Reply)

And I'll add my name to the list of people who hate text speak. Especially in all capitals. Fucking pikey Jeremy Kyle Show offcuts.
I WNDRD LNLY AS A CLOUD THT FLTS ON HGH OR VLS AND HLLS WHN AL AT ONC I SW A CRWD A HST OF GLDN DFFDLS BSD TH LK BNEATH TH TREES 5FLTTRNG AND DNCNG IN TH BREEZ. CNTNOUS AS TH STRS THT SHN AND TWNKL ON TH MLKY WY THY STRTCHD IN NVR-NDNG LN ALNG TH MRGN OF A BY TN THOUSND SW I AT A GLNC TSSNG THEIR HEADS IN SPRGHTLY DNC. TH WVS BSD THM DNCD BT THY OUT-DD TH SPRKLNG WVS IN GLEE A PT COULD NT BT BE GY IN SCH A JCND CMPNY I GZDND GZDBT LTTL THOUGHT WHT WEALTH TH SHW 2 ME HD BROUGHT FR OFT WHN ON MY COUCH I LIE IN VCNT R IN PNSV MOOD THY FLSH UPN THT INWRD EY WHCH IS TH BLSS OF SLTD AND THN MY HEART WTH PLEASR FLLS AND DNCS WTH TH DFFDLS.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 19:24, Reply)

Not my life...
... but could have potentially ruined some other poor sod's. No funnies here, sorry.

One saturday night a few years ago, about ten o' clock, my mobile rings. I don't recognise the number so I let it go to voicemail. Whoever it was left me a message, so I dial up the "abuse bucket" (as I often am want to call my voice mail, on account of the abuse me ex used to leave on it) and am slightly alarmed to hear a message that went something like this.

Woman's unhappy voice: "Grant - please can we talk ? I know you're not happy but, ... you were supposed to be home two hours ago. I'm worried about you. -Click-"

Now my name's not Grant, and I don't know any Grant. I'm not even the same gender as a Grant ! So obviously this poor bint has misdialled whilst pleading with her lover, and all I can do is shrug and hope she got it right on the next time around.

Midnight, I'm tucked up in bed with two huge dogs lying on me, listening to the radio or some such. I'm a right raver on a saturday night, and no mistaking. ;)
Phone goes again. Same number. Leaves another - very tearful and angry - message.

"Grant - you're such an arsehole ! If you're going to stay out, at least fucking do me the courtesy of phoning and letting me know, you bastard ! If you're with that slag Melissa it's fucking over, do you understand ? I fucking mean it !"

Oh dear.

Ten minutes later, mobile rings again - guess which number ?

Now I'm in a quandry - if I pick it up and say, "Scuse me missus, but you've got the wrong number, and would you mind not ringing it again as I'd like to go to sleep now" I risk her not believing me. She sounds pretty hysterical, it's late, there's obviously a history to this little scene and I'm female - and people have been known to jump to conclusions when emotions are running high. I don't know who Grant is, or who Melissa is, but I have no wish to make what is obviously a bad situation worse. But I want my kip.

So I decide to say fuck it, and turn the phone off.

Sunday morning, turning the phone on again I am presented with these messages from the abuse bucket.

One at about two am;

"Please pick up ! Please ! I don't know what I've done wrong. Please talk to me !"

Three a.m.;
"Grant....."

At about six a.m., a much calmer voice says,
"Look, this is the last fucking straw. Get home and get your stuff. I mean it."

Jeesus.

About ten a.m., it rings again, same number. On impulse (because I'm not sure how long this is going to go on) I pick up and say, "Hello..."
Before I can go any further, the woman wails, "Melissa ! You fucking whore ! Where is he ? Put him on !"
So I say, in what I hope is a reassuring voice, "I'm not Melissa, and you've got the wrong number, you've been leaving messages all night for someone called Grant, and I assure you, he's not going to get them as you've got the wrong number !"
All I get from the other end is hysterical crying, and the noise of heavy traffic.
"Please, seriously," I say, "You've been calling the wrong number all night..."
And she says, through the snot and tears, "Don't give me that shit... It's in my bastard phone book !" and proceeds to reel off a number one digit out from mine.
So I tell her it's one digit out, and to prove it I hang up and call her back - and when she picks up she finds that I am in fact telling the truth, the number I'm calling from displayed on her phone is one digit out from the one she wants, and her mobile company has obviously made a momentous fuck up somewhere - that or she's been playing a very complicated and convincing prank on some random stranger for whatever reason (to this day I don't believe that to be true though).

Finally she says, still tearful but calmer, "He's really really not there ? Honest ?"
I assure her not and she sort of laughs and says, "I was here on the motorway bridge... I just ... couldn't face the thought that he didn't want me anymore... I just ...I don't know what I thought, things have been so bad lately, when he didn't answer and I kept calling and calling..."

Fuck me, how scary is that ?

I wished her well and told her to please go home and take care of herself. She said she would.

I often wonder what happened when Grant finally showed his face, and why her mobile network were somehow routing calls for a number one digit out to my number instead.

I hope it worked out ok for her in the end.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 19:24, 2 replies)

A neighbour told me this story: her daughter asked a mate, did you shag at least 5 blokes over a pool table t'other night?
And then 'entertain' a pool cue?

'No!' says the mate, quite indignantly. 'Well... yes.'

'Thought so!' says neighbour's daughter. 'They sent me the photos AND a video!'

Busted.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 19:18, Reply)

In response to Calfin
Yes, I fell foul of that. I had a phone that did the whole slow motion recording at 150fps thing. I also had a friend who had giant norks, a tendancy to not wear a bra and one fateful day decided to come running towards me on a beach as I happened to be filming. It's probably a good job it broke and I had to take it to the shop before I could add the Baywatch theme tune to the video.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 19:01, 1 reply)

Top tip!
I used to work for a high street phone company and dealt with phone repairs. Just remember to delete all that homemade porn before you book your phone in, you don't know who could find it!
(CaLFiN, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 18:56, 4 replies)

apparently*..
Lewis Hamilton used to steal pretty girls mobiles at parties. He would then gallantly help them look for their phones and when he amazingly found them he would suggest they could thank him by having sex with him. which they did.
well at least he doesn't always come first now...

*from popbitch so almost certainly true..
(bryo, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 18:38, Reply)

Few years ago before everybody had a small mobile phone.
I got home late one night to find my housemate in a bit of a state.
Said there was a weird message on the answering machine.
So I have a listen and sure enough.
There is a kind of muffled howl, followed by ghostly gasps, something that sounds like demon calling from down a long tunnel.
'you fucking bitch in hell'
and more muted talking that comes and goes in waves.
Then a few minutes of a nothing but a rhythmic raaasp, click, raaasp, click sound.
After a couple of listens I realised what it was but thought it would be fun not to enlighten my jittery housemate.
Who kept the recording for weeks and would insist on any visitors having to listen to it.
Until one night when we had a few people round, and one of our friends, listened, yelped and said OMG sorry that was me.
Stumbling home from the pub, she had tripped, barked her shins, ripped her tights and swore.
Got up and carried on home, chatting to a mate and not realising that her mobile in her bag got bumped and managed to call our number.
Housemate called me a few names when I admitted I'd guessed that it was a phone in someones bag.

it was eerie though ;)
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 18:33, Reply)

Not so much a single story as such
but has anyone else found some really, realy odd phone names when sending bluetooth things? My personal best was being in a train carriage inhabited seemingly exclusively by old people and finding a phone called "GOAT SEX IS FUN"
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 18:31, 2 replies)

Crime is only a matter of profit margines
Back when I was young and foolish and earnestly saw the value in the noisey plastic, I was on a pay as you go deal-io, and found I kept getting random advertisement messages I'd never invited or replied to but each text message rinsed at least £1.10 off my balance. The first couple of occasions I just ignored it but it accelerated to such a point where I would be down nearly £5.50 a week for receiving unwanted text messages!

So, I call up the customer support (an ingenious invention whereby a company can avoid resolving mistakes and other piss-fucking-poor service by populating the helplines with a drooling pack of mouth-breathers) and explain the problem and see absolutely no sodding problem with this.

Phone-monkey 'I see you top up at least £20 a month, though, so that shouldn't be a problem.'

Clearly the 'tard thinks I am happy having this money stolen from me and I set about explaining I consider this theft and I want these advertisements blocked, but apparently this can't be done. Still beaming with the knowledge of a job well done the sodding pleb asks me if I want to buy a new bolt on for 100 free texts or whatever for £10 a week/month.

'I'll leave it for now, since I'm paying twenty quid a month already.'

'Fair enough, thank you for calling. For reference my name is-' Click.

Shit it. Fuck you Oh-two.
(Bad Magic ain't that cute... but its wrong!, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:49, 1 reply)

Not me, but my Dad.
When I think of the 1980s, I usually think of the usual stuff, like Knight Rider, The A Team, my Spectrum, the usual stuff, but it also brings back fond memories of my Dads car phone.

You see, back in those days, (around 1987-8 if I remember correctly) my Dad would often get a new car from work, and it would usually be fitted with what was back then, really cool stuff. I still remember the first time he had central locking! But none of it compares to his car phone.

Now you see, this thing was HUGE! It actually had to be fitted and installed into the car, there was a massive handset next to the handbrake, in a holder, and a massive box full of gubbins that was installed into the boot, I suppose the best way to describe that was that it looked a lot like a CD Changer.

The phone was difficult to use, and cost the earth to make phone calls on, but as I remember the sound quality was actually quite good, I remember chatting to many people using it, when I was in the car with my dad (I was too young to drive, you see, being only 8) and they were all really amused by the novelty of talking on the phone, to somebody in a car.

One thing this phone did have, though was hands free, and at that time, very few (if any) people had actually heard of this. As I am sure you can guess, this allowed my dad to talk to his customers while driving, and because he was in sales, this really helped him keep in touch, and to sell fork-lifts to people.

Anyway, now onto the good part. He was chatting with one of his customers on the phone, using his hands free, and then he had to write down an appointment time, and he could not do this while driving, so he pulled into what was at that time a very busy car park, and it was full of people, and if memory serves, there was a large group of people getting off a coach, right next to where he was parked.

He was talking away, when he noticed that he was getting some very strange looks from some of the coach passengers, but he just ignored this, and tried to get on with his work, that was until he heard a voice say: “Hey, that weird guy in that car is talking to himself!” He and the customer just laughed at this.

I still remember that throughout the years, he would get a new car, and a team of engineers would have to dismantle this phone, and re-assemble it in his new car, the whole process would take a day or so, but we would all be excitedly waiting at home, to see his next new car, and what new features it contained.

When he finally got rid of this phone, it felt like an era had ended, and from then on, he had a “normal” handset, that he could use in the house. I will never forget that car phone.
( Squiggy Alloria makes theme parks., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:41, 1 reply)

I once bought an LG Viewty
And it made me want to go into a corner for a little cry. I've posted its attributes to another forum in the past and here it is, an updated review of that cocksucking phone:

Some features include:

The keypad locks, even when halfway through a call - piss boilingly infuriating when making phonecalls of a 'press 3 to continue' nature.

The alarm sometimes fails to make a noise, which either means I sleep in, or get up at 2am to check and make sure I have not slept in.

Piss poor battery life with little warning that it is nearly flat - 2 bars and then dead.

When you are making a call and the phone decides to warn you that the battery is failing, it doesn't do this in a subtle way, oh no. Instead you get a ear piercing SKEEP!! SKEEP!! SKEEP!! SKEEP!! in your fucking ear.

I could go on. I will.

Fails to recognise most micro SD cards.

Messages are unable to be stored on an SD card when it recognises one, which means you can only store about 200.

You need a stylus when using the internet on it, as fat chubby fingers don't fucking work.

The stylus does not slip into the phone anywhere, which means you have to have it on your keyring, or up your arse, leaving shitty marks on the screen.

Its fucking slow.

The camera (although good picture quality) is a fucking ball ache to use, especially trying to change options on the screen with your fucking fingers because you have the stylus up your arse.

I think thats it.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:37, 12 replies)

RAZR
Some years back, Motorola marketed an ultra thin phone by the name of RAZR. It was quite popular with people, even the hicks out in the country in deepest darkest Kent.

I imagine that the female half of one of the pairings of troglodytes found around the county had acquired one of these handsets, through fair means or foul and was busy showing off her black new phone. I guess that late in 2006 her partner had taken offence to her giving it more attention than him while he was driving into Canterbury, and tossed out out of the window in a careless fit of rage. I would imagine that it probably wouldn't have helped the situation all that much either.

The reason I bring this up, is not just a break from the usual "I changed someone's number in a mate's phone and hilarity ensued" posts. Back in 2006 I was starting work in a call centre for a British Telecommunications company. Due to the rigorous standards they hold their employees to (ha!) each new recruit had to undergo 6 weeks of training before being let loose on the general public. The beauty of this training was that it didn't start until 11am, so I could have a leisurely lie in, eat breakfast while listening to the connection on Planet Rock at 9, and miss out on the school run. As I went off, I put my own phone, a dinky Nokia number, in a pouch on the left hand side of my belt, as I didn't want it falling out of my jeans on the ride.

When approaching Canterbury from the West, there is a long sweeping road (now, sadly, with a set of traffic lights halfway down) between the main A2 and the ring road, separated by a roundabout. Owing to a lack of traffic I didn't have cause to drop my speed much from the dual carriageway down this long sweeping road while riding in on my motorbike. I swept round the roundabout, marvelling at the sparks flying from my peg grinding on the tarmac, then flipped my bike over so that I was leaning to the left as I prepared to come off the roundabout at my exit.

It was at that point that my back tyre, instead of propelling me forward by means of grip on the road surface, hit the aforementioned RAZR phone instead.

The sudden lack of propulsion meant that my leaning of the bike stopped being a showy way of turning a corner and started to just be me falling over. I went down on my hip, shattering my Nokia which took the brunt of the landing, rolled a few times and came to a rest against the kerb, deciding that I didn't need to move for a while and I was quite peaceful here, while the bike slid down the road, coming to an abrupt halt via a crash barrier which ended up snapping the front forks off.

I was lucky enough to walk away. Save for a few cuts, bruises and scratches I was unharmed. The bike (a Honda CB500), however, was written off - and that's how a mobile phone wrecked my bike.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:36, 3 replies)

Not me but an old friend
Had a nasty prank he used to play which if he managed to get hold of your phone he'd reset the default language to Urdu.

What a fucktard
( Big Ian has stopped changing his sig, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:31, 2 replies)

Remembered this,
thanks to YellowFever.

One day at work, my manager had gone off on some unknown mission, leaving her mobile behind.
About 5 minutes later, the boss rings...

Me: X's phone, Sneezy speaking
Boss: Is X there?
Me: No, she's buggered off somewhere (may not be entirely accurate)
Boss: Well, does she have her phone with her?
Me: Err.... what are you talking to me on?
Boss: Her mobile.
Me: I guess she doesn't, then...

*click*
(Sneezy Badger can't wait to quit his job on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:23, Reply)

Phones are for wankers
I bought my latest phone on eBay, I normally do this as you can blag a decent, if a bit dated, phone cheap due to people getting upgrades on their contracts.

Anyway, I bought this sweet samsung thing that had a nice camera, internet connection, bluetooth AND it even let you ring people off it. The phone arrived swiftly, positive feedback both ways, everybody's happy.... until... I'm bored, i'm looking through the games on the phone
Menu: my files: games & more:
"oooh... " i think to myself "freekick, that looks fun... cannonball, i'll give that a go, Masturbator Pro, i've not heard of that... HANG ON. MASTURBATOR FUCKING PRO?!"

I open the file, curious, scared. The icon is a picture of a bunny rabbit, the 'game' opens, it's a choice of different vibration patterns: random, pulses, continuous.

I'd bought a phone that a woman had been using to frig with. I was not happy, I sniffed the phone but it didn't smell too 'used'.

Eventually I got over this trauma, I was looking through the calendar option which it seems the previous owner had used to log her peroids.

23rd June 08
Got some blood on jeans, pissed off.

24th june 08
Very heavy, it really hurts

Etc etc

Lesson: Don't buy second hand phones.
(nobface part time paperboy full time gangsta, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:22, 3 replies)