If you ever find yourself in my brother's back garden...
And he says "Can I have a look at your phone?" Don't hand it over- he's about to push you, (fully clothed) into the pool.
(this is a shit username, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 15:12, 4 replies)

Phone insurance
I've lost a couple of mobiles, and as they were on a contract I had insured them and in both cases the insurance company came good and gave me a new one. I had to fill in a form, naturally, and one of the questions was "Was the phone lost or stolen?" I dutifully ticked "lost" and went on to question 7, as instructed. Question 7 was something like "Where was the phone lost?" Well, if I knew that...

Hardly a disaster, I know, but thought I'd share it anyway.
(eesnahk, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 14:56, 1 reply)

Not so much how a mobile wrecked my life...
but more how I wrecked my mobile.

A couple of years back I was the proud owner of a Motorola something-or-other. It wasn't top of the line, the battery lasted about a day if I was lucky and it weighed as much as a small moon, but at least it looked cool.

One night I was at a party. At some point in the early hours the neighbours called the rozzers and we all got kicked out. I pull out my phone to get a taxi and- the horror!- I find that somehow I've smashed the screen despite not having used it all night.

Most sober people in this situation would take it to the shop the next day and get it changed for free, but not fucknuts here. In my inebriated state I thought "meh" and threw it at the nearest wall as hard as I could. Miliseconds after it left my hand I remember thinking "maybe this isn't such a good idea after all" as it then shattered into a thousand pieces. I was right. Had to pay for an inferior phone and they tied me into a new 18 month contract I didn't want.

That'll learn me. I'm now on pay as you go with Asda Mobile.

'ave it.
(Atomised teabagged your mum on, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 13:35, Reply)

Got an epic for later, but for now, very quickly: The Departed.
What an epic film. What a perfectly crafted storyline, what a jaw-dropping cast and brilliant performances. Beautiful in every detail.

And completely fucked over and ruined by the single most unacceptable, blatent, ridiculous piece of product placement. That gives Motorola about 25 minutes of screen time.

Nearly shit a brick when I noticed they actually manage to worm in a few special features that the piece of turd had. I wonder just how much Motorola had to pay to have Scorsese convinced that it didn't pretty much ruin the film whenever they popped up on-screen.
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 12:39, 6 replies)

when bluetooth was released on handsets
I remember I was sitting at my desk in my call centre job. My Bluetooth on, on my mobile phone. My Phone Bleeped, I had received an anonymous message..

Click to receive from *whoever*. (I can’t remember the name- thasts not important though)

Being new to the Bluetooth lark, I simply clicked accept, and it began to download. It was quite a large file, so it took some time.

Then it opened...

My face changed from one of happiness, to intrigue, to bewildering, to disgust, to a confused look, to sickness, back to confusement (is that a word), to vomiting, to disgust… and so on..


...and that my friends, was the first time I saw 2 girls one cup.

To this day I still don’t know who sent me it, they must have known who i was, and must have been watching my face from a far... im sure it was a picture.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 12:21, 2 replies)

well i'd call it a disaster
being accused of sticking your mobile up your arse as part of some sordid gay sex game. that made for awkward conversation around the dinner table at christmas.

made sure i sued the paper for libel though so as to make it look completely untrue.

ashley
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 12:12, 1 reply)

Screw you chariity shops!
Following on from my earlier post about my ever lovely but calamitous wife and her ability to break/ lose a mobile phone in a matter of months I thought that I would tell the story about how a mobile phone disaster led to me refusing to give anything to charity shops.

Back in the day I would happily give away any un-used clothing or items my kids had grown out of, and as the incident took place shortly after my eldest had been born we were taking a shedload of clothing bundles to the shop (First grandchild so he was spoilt rotten by my inlaws). One day after a typical trip to the shop my wife returned home to realise that her phone had mysteriously disappeared. A quick call from me and the phone was ringing but we could not hear it anywhere in the house (She never has it on silent and ring was always set to the highest volume).

After a few minutes of searching my wife started to mentally retrace her steps:

Wife: Well I was packing the clothes in the bin bag for the charity shop, I took a call from M and then…..Oh God
Moi: What?
Wife: I think I might have put it in the charity shop bag by accident.

Cue a quick drive back to the shop to reclaim the phone.

Upon arrival we were greeted by the middle aged woman with facial hair that had taken the bag from us in the first place, she recognised us and we explained the situation to her.

Charity Hag: So you have left your phone here have you……Sorry but we cant help you the bags been sorted and the mobile cpould be anywhere now.
Me: WTF? It hasn’t even been an hour since we dropped it off, surely you would klnow where it is?
Charity Hag: I wasn’t the one that unpacked it, that was done mongysweatbucketbloke (Guy sat in corner of the shop who looks like he belongs on a register of sorts and classes types of train he catalogues as his friends).
Me: So he will know if it was there, look we give you enough things to sell in the shop, the phone was accidentally placed in the bag and we really need it.
Charity Hag: Anything brought into the shop is now ours to sell, you sir (One of the only times I have been called that) are trying to steal from a charity!
Me: What, all I need is my wifes phone back are you want me to buy it back from you?
Charity Hag: That can’t be done by me, the pricing won’t be sorted until tomorrow as we are too busy

The whole argument fell into her yelling that I was trying to steal from the shop etc etc so we made the sensible decision to go home, call the head office for the shop we were in and explain the situation to them. The woman on the phone apologised and sorted things out ASAP.

In the end we got the mobile back the next day, but somehow the background wallpaper had been changed to a picture of Bin Laden.

From then on I decided to start selling any unwanted kids clothes on Ebay instead.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 12:11, 6 replies)

Revenge of the Telesales
Like most people I get Telesales calls on my mobile from time to time. My response to this sort of thing is a universal "no" before I hear any of it, but "no" can be phrased with various degrees of politeness.

One day I got such a call from a Scots gentleman when I was feeling particularly irritable. I asked him if I knew him from somewhere or whether I'd given him my number and when, obviously, he replied in the negative to both I asked him why the fuck we was phoning me up then, and ended the call.

A minute later my phone started ringing - a glance at the screen revealed it was the same number as before so I just pressed end call. Then it rang again. And again. And again. For about fifteen full minutes the guy kept ringing my number over and over again. Occasionally there was a pause and an answerphone message indicator would pop up.

I chose to listen to the first message in the queue. My persecutor begin to describe, in labourious and grotesque detail, his weekend encounters with various Scottish ladies of questionable virtue. It wasn't low grade-porn, but seriously revolting filth. I listened to it for long enough to realise what he was up to and then deleted all the messages.

Unfortunately the guy was clearly not smart enough to have bothered to check whether or not his number was screened. It wasn't. I tried calling it but got an "outgoing calls only" response. Then I tried googling it - nothing. *Then* I tried googling the dialing code - success! And, further searching later I discovered that there was only one call center in the vicinity. So I called that, spoke to the receptionist, confirmed that the nuisance calls had indeed come from there, and lodged a complaint.

30 minutes later I got a call from the manager there who told me that of course, they log all outgoing calls, and he'd listened to what his employee had left on my answerphone and was so disgusted that the employee had been fired on the spot and literally thrown out of the building along with the contents of his desk.

I felt a mixture of triumph at having tracked the bastard down, and guilt at (temporarily) ending his livelihood. After all, I'd wound him up first. What do you think - who was the sinner here, him or me?
(MattDP (Squiggle), Mon 3 Aug 2009, 11:50, 9 replies)

Not disaster but definately stupid.
My girlfriend sent the following text last night to all her friends:

"This is my new number"

#End#
(Studentken is looking for motivation on, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 11:40, 7 replies)

During my short stint as a line manager
One of my staff was, unfortunately, an overweight French Linux zealot with borderline Aspergers and the most appalling BO problem I've ever come across. He was rude, truculent, sulky and refused to do as he was asked because - being a Linux god - he obviously knew better than everyone else be they the customers he was supposed to be serving or the managers who had a better grasp of the wider strategic situation than he did.

After one particularly irritating encounter with him, I went home and ranted to my partner about his behaviour. She agreed it was way over the line and suggested I text my boss - who was away at a conference - about the situation and ask for advice, possibly even for a sanction to start disciplinary proceedings. So I did.

I got no reply, which puzzled me, so I checked the outbox. To my mounting horror I realized I'd sent the message not to my boss, but instead to the object of my scorn.

Now you know why my stint as a line manager was a short one.
(MattDP (Squiggle), Mon 3 Aug 2009, 11:39, 1 reply)

Where are you now ???
As a travelling sales bod you hear this alot through the course of your working day. The Imperialist scum office manager rings you up for a location report; to see if you’re actually going to make it to Windsor for the three-thirty appointment to talk to nice Mr Patel about some sort of insurance cover he probably doesn't want or need. I remember a time before mobiles when public phoneboxes were my friend. I chose when I’d ring work to give them an update on where - in point of fact - the fuck I was. And thanks to the wonderfully effecient dynamism of the British Telecom repair department, nine times out of ten the interior of the phone box looked like the Tasmanian Devil, armed with a couple of sledgehammers had just done that whirly, spinny thing he does for about half an hour. I never minded the reek of piss, the used johnnies hanging off the receiver like some kind of elegant telephone after-dinner headgear, or the occasional steamy turd you’d find strategically placed on the yellow pages counter – no, fuck those. As long as the phonebox wasn't working it was fine by me. At least I could say, with all sincerity, that I'd tried to call the office. Ane even in the unlikely event I'd find a phonebox that worked, at least I could choose when I wanted to ring my manager; a bloke who made Hitler appear like a left-wing liberal hipster-type who owned a camper van and promoted the use of low-level narcotics for personal use to help communicate with our friends from Alpha Centuri.

But then along came mobile phones... and suddenly life became alot harder. It’s the working equivalent of being fitted with an electronic tag.

Even to this day I’m blighted by the works mobile phone. Notable conversations are as follows:

Boss: “Are you in Walthamstow yet, you lazy cunt?”
Me: “Yes! Been here for an hour, mate.”
Boss: “That’s strange, in that case I’ve just seen your dopple-fucking-ganger sitting in Buger King in Liverpool Street Station wearing your stupid fucking Pixies baseball cap eating a fucking whopper while reading the same fucking book you were reading in the office this morning. Finish your fucking buger and get to fucking Walthamstow PRONTO, you tit!”

And:

Boss: “Are you in Canning Town yet?”
Mate: “Spanky’s just gone for a slash, mate. He’ll be back in a minute.”
Boss: “Who is this???”
Mate: “Who’s this???”
Boss: “...are you in a pub???”
Mate: “Wassit to you, mate???”

And:

Boss: “Is Slough sorted? You manage to make it ok?”
Me: “Sure! No probs! Just finishing up there now, in fact.”
POW – POW – POW – HAKKA – HAKKA – HAKKA – HAKKA – POW – POW – POW, DESTORY ALL HUMANS!!! EEEEE-OOOO-WWWWWW-EEEEE!!!
Boss: “.........???........ Are you in a fucking amusement arcade???”
Me: “Erm, yes... yes I am...”

Fucking mobile phones... can’t wait for the time when apes walk and talk like men and ride round on the backs of horses rounding up us humans with nets and putting us in cages. I’d settle for that; the chance of being stuffed and mounted on a pedastal in some orangutan civil servants office – at least there wouldn’t be anymore annoying work-related mobile phone conversations to contend with.
( SpankyHanky, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 10:38, 7 replies)

A friend of mine is a huge Van Morrison fan
and was enjoying some rectal shenanigans with his ladyfriend when the phone rang.

If that wasn't awkward enough, he really wished he hadn't set his ringtone to "Brown-eyed Girl"...
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 9:37, Reply)

My phone has Wi(fe)-Fi(nd)
I have told this story before, but it centres on a mobile phone so I think it's relevant.

Back in 2005 I went to Tokyo for a three-month project. The day after I arrived, London was hit by the July 07 attacks. The heady combination of jet-lag, jubilation for the London Olympic bid victory, a stinking first night hangover and mind-gurgling anxiety for my London-based friends resulted in hard drinking that lasted until my brother came out to visit me a fornight later. His arrival finally settled my frayed nerves, enabling normal service again, to the relief of my boss in Japan.

Midweek, my errant brother hooked up with a random girl, which was the last I saw of him that night. I went to work in the morning and left a key with the reception desk instead. Upon returning home, I found him with his travel buddy and his new lady friend, plus another girl, all drinking tea in my living room. We chatted for a while and I took the number of the other girl, thinking it might be 'useful' to have a friendly (and attractive) local among my contacts. Hers was the first entry in my brand new Japanese phone but I promptly forgot about it shortly after the girls left.

I waved off my brother to the airport on Friday and went out after work for our first proper team outing since I'd arrived. It was a fantastic, messy night, ending at around 7 on Saturday morning when I zig-zagged into my front room and collapsed face-down on the sofa. Around midday I awoke to the burning summer heat, crawled into the kitchen to get water for my parched mouth and slithered into my bed. I woke up again at 4:30 in the afternoon with my head spinning. The hangover made the room feel like it was shaking.

It was fucking shaking, a lot. A very strong earthquake (magnitude 7.0) was rocking the foundations of my rickety apartment complex. Panicking, I bimbled in a squiggly, drunken line towards the door and held on for dear life, vowing also to never drink again. The earthquake eventually subsided so I instinctively reached for my phone, but the only number in the phonebook belonged to the girl I'd met the other day. I dialled anyway. She happened to be watching a movie at my local cinema, so I threw on some clothes and went to meet her for coffee, which then turned into dinner and a night out, finally ending when I walked her to the station, where I received a sweet goodnight kiss.

We started dating soon afterwards. I returned to the UK, she came with me and stayed for a couple of years and we got married. We're now living in Tokyo together and it can all be traced back to that fateful day when I unboxed my new phone to add her details. If the phone had arrived a day later, I never would have seen her again. One of the many odd things that binds us together is the unfortunate fact that both our mothers have already passed away. Compounding the coincidences that made us meet, it was only later in our relationship that we found out that her mother died on my mother's birthday. We then realised that my mother died on my wife's birthday. I think the universe is trying to tell us something.

I just wish it wasn't always in the form of natural disasters and macabre date alignments.

/Obligatory 'marriage wrecked my life' joke goes here (except it didn't... not yet anyway)
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 9:32, 6 replies)

A friend of mine went through a phase of stocking up on cheesy '80s pop songs
And for a little while, had Sister Sledge's "We Are Family."

She really should have set it to "silent" before she started her job at the orphanage.
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 9:31, 2 replies)

Birthdays and bath tubs
It was at my 20th birthday a handful of years ago. I was living the good life at a flat with my mates, and on my birthday we went all out. No balloons, not heaps of people, but a dozen good mates, a lot of booze, and 48 hours of music and binging.

At some point during the weekend someone turned up with a bag of pot, and though knowing my tolerance is terrible, I decided to indulge a bit. It was my birth weekend after all.

A few hours later the flat patrons realised they hadn't seen me for a while, so went exploring. What they eventually found was a tripping cupz in the bath, wearing nothing but a shoe on his cock, a grin on his face, a cigarette up his nose, the shower on full, and his cell phone ringing from 2 inches underwater.

It was once I crawled out of the bath with the intension to ‘dick-kick' those who were happily taking photos, that my phones lithium-ion battery decided it was sick of being in dirty water and exploded.

The explosion wasn't much of an explosion, but with the dull echoing noise in my ear I managed to slip on the gin covered floor and pass out for the remainder of the photo-taking conference.

These photos still manage to meet the eyes of every new person I meet. Though at least this weans out the potential friends that don’t take kindly to naked shoe-cock men with broken bath tubs
( cupz, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 9:03, 5 replies)

Are you sure you want to send that?
Pearoast, and not strictly on-topic as it's about pagers, not phones. I couldn't give a monkey's...

Not long after starting work I ended up on the IT desktop support team, which involved looking after the trading floor for the bank. It took me a while, but I gained the trust and respect of the fickle teams I supported by keeping my promises, fixing important things quickly and having a sense of humour. Unfortunately, my reputation was almost destroyed by one click of the mouse.

When I started out-of-hours support, I received a pager. Contained in the box was the device itself and a printed sheet with two similar phone numbers on it. I thought it would be prudent to test it so I logged in to Vodafone's website, entered my name --big mistake-- then sent a test message to myself with a cheery reminder ("Don't forget Andy's birthday!"). There was no 'Are you sure?' message, no warnings whatsoever, it just sent it. I was impressed by the fluidity of it all…

…until about five seconds later, when I heard beeping behind me. Then to the left, then to my right, forwards, in the distance... phones started going off all around me. It was like the final scene of Lawnmower Man, when all the phones in the world start ringing simultaneously. "Who's Andy?" asked a colleague. Oh crap. As I was based on the trading floor, I had a dealerboard phone with 40 lines. They started lighting up quickly, then my boss raised his furrowed brow over my screen, grinned nervously and whispered "chart cat, do you realise what you just did?"

I'd paged the fucking disaster management distribution list, which included the entire management team for the bank, the board of directors, head traders, front, middle and back office and the IT department. Worldwide. Around 3,000 VIPs in total.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the morning and afternoon was spent fielding phone calls from high-ranking, irate people who wanted to know who this Andy figure was and why I was abusing the alert system. One director in New York called me to complain that I'd woken him up for nothing, another in Singapore called to tell me how I'd ruined the expensive dinner he was enjoying with his wife. One chap sarcastically wished Andy all the best and offered to send him a ‘present’. I felt dreadful; my fledgling career looked like it was in ruins just because Vodafone didn’t distinguish distribution lists from personal numbers, or provide any kind of warning on its website. Then my mates got wind of the situation and began prank-calling me, which was exactly what I didn't need.

After hours of apologising and being made to feel very small indeed, interspersed with my friends conspiring to make me feel even worse, I'd had enough. I picked up the phone for what felt like the millionth time and on the other end was one of my mates, again, this time pretending to be the head of 'Global Data Centres'. He was masquerading with some ridiculous name and speaking in a ludicrous foreign accent. I decided to give him a piece of my mind using as many swear words as I could cram into the rant as possible.

Sadly for me, it really was our head of Global Data Centres. I frantically checked our group directory and lo' and behold, I was talking to the top IT manager for the company. I’d called him a stupid, feckless cunt and insisted he stop wasting my time. To his eternal credit, he took my disgraceful, provocative and seething gross misconduct unbelievably well and told me to be more careful in future, as other managers might not be so forgiving.

From that day forwards, I was known as 'Pager' until I switched roles (hooray for graduate training programmes!).
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 6:16, 7 replies)

Reposting an old QOTW
"a "my mate" story (but this time it's true)


The stage: Reading Festival, the year just after bluetooth phones had been introduced.

The scene. Bunch of us wandering blindly round the tents blasted out of our heads.

The penis. My mate has a look for bluetooth devices on his phone and discovers 37 of them. Wow! What can we do about that? In a flash of brilliance he undoes his belt and sticks his phone down the front of his pants, takes a photo of his todger and sends it off on it's merry way via bluetooth. We crouch down (drop to the floor giggling and holding onto each other for support) and listen for the response.

"Oh wow! I got a bluetooth!" someone close to us cries. "Let me see" cries his friend. "Ewww!" "WTF!" and other sounds of disgust are suddenly heard, success! Then we hear a girls voice pipe up "But it's so small"

We almost died from laughing that night.

37 bluetooth devices....."

www.b3ta.com/questions/pythonshame/post386153
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 0:27, Reply)

there is a god
one day, i was on my merry way to the shops, on that infernal mode of transport known as a bus. all was going well, until the bus stopped and on got the Chav Princess. wearing head-to-toe pink, 6 inches of make-up and enough gold(ish) jewellery to put Mr. T to shame, she tottered up the bus, with her glittery pink phone clamped to her foundation-streaked ear.
the entire bus was then subjected to ten minutes of her loud and nasty conversation, ranging from the bloke she'd been "rammed up the shitter" by the night before, to how itchy her fanny was that morning. none of us wanted to hear this, but we really didn't have a choice. i remember her saying "yeah, i got a call back from that modelling agency, they said they've definitely got work for me. dirty bastard nearly cum on my tits while i was there! i don't really want to leave the salon, but they'll just have to manage without me."
by now, the whole bus was ready to throttle the little scrote.
then, something wonderful happened: her phone rang. while she was "talking" to someone on it.
she'd been caught out and she knew it. the snigger crept through the other passengers almost as fast as the blush of shame crept over her face. she answered the phone quickly, saying "yeah, dad, i'm on my way. i had to sign on first."
she jumped off the bus at the next stop. i doubt it was her stop, but if she could have got out of the emergency exit, i think she would have.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 0:09, 8 replies)

ha i forgot all about the jizzard of oz...
thanks for dredging this up, scaryduck.

a couple of years ago, fellow b3tan rebeccaslicker and i went to tenerife for a few days. it was very last minute, so my boss insisted that i was back for an important litigation conference. we got completely lashed on my last night with some random boys that we met, to the extent that i had to get a taxi straight from the bar to the airport in the morning.

so by the time i got to the conference, i was feeling absolutely dreadful. i switched my phone to "meeting", threw my bag at the back of the room, and sat down to listen to 3 hours on the dilapidations protocol. that would finish anyone off in the prime of their life, but trust me, on an evil hangover and no sleep, it is actually life-threatening. then, halfway through the talk, i heard something vaguely familiar.... the jizzard of oz!! i shuffled down in my seat as the back few rows who could hear it all jumped, wondering who was singing "if i only had a dame" (to the tune of "if i only had a brain"). thank fuck nobody could tell who it belonged to, as my bag was miles away from me!

it is not, as such, what you would call a polite song. eventually, the final strains of "i'd be always penetrating even when she's menstruating" died away and the lecturer carried on his merry way. but by now, i had remembered how hilarious it had seemed the night before to set all the rude tunes that the boys had bluetoothed over to us as our profile settings, and i was hoping against hope that the caller hadn't left me a voicemail.

my hopes were in vain. two minutes later, the unmistakeable sound of donald duck receiving a serious blowie rang around the room, on full volume this time..........................
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 23:37, 4 replies)

Do not have roobarb and custard as your ringtone.
There you are in a commentary booth putting in a new microphone amp a few minutes from air, totally cool, so is the voice, not even in 2 minutes countdown , then your phone goes off. The match commentator`s corpsing persists into the start of the live football, oops. But the phone was switched to vibe at the 2 minute light, at least I was professional throughout.
Mind you it is a very grinsome smiley ringtone.
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 21:29, 4 replies)

Not exactly a disaster (for me anyway!)
Three years ago I got a call on my mobile "'Ello luv, is that the clairvoyant?" Me:"Err no, I think you have the wrong number!"

Repeat ad infinitum over the next few days with me getting more and more cheesed off with each call.

Gah!! I lost my rag! The next call that went "'Ello luv, is that the clairvoyant?" I said "Who gave you my number", "Julie Stevens gave me your number", "Ah" I said "I believe Julie may have got her numbers mixed up, I am not a clairvoyant I do (ahem) intimate massages for ladies!" There was a sharp draw of breath and the line went dead.

No more calls after that!!!
( Vambo, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 21:16, 1 reply)

Lonely nokia phones
Around 2000-2002 there were a generation of older Nokia slab phones with 2 or 3 buttons under the b/w display just before the lttle four arrowed centre button came in. (3330 might have been one?)

These had a bug that even with keyboard locked they would very sometimes randomly call someone from the address list in the phone ( apparently not the sim.) But it was usually the same number associated with place in the contacts list in phone memory.

One place where I worked had one of these as contact phone when you were outside tending to gear. 3 or 4 times over a few months It rang one of the other engineers at home, not a problem apart from "bloody phone" as it was an open line and not until they rang back did you know, and you would have loads of outgoings of 5 seconds!
As numbers were added it would phone someone different.

Then came the fun it moved the " I`m lonely" call number to one of the senior managers who was the out of hours contact for the emergency procedures, and had to escalate them.

An open phone line said I was struggling with a problem that was so difficult I couldn`t speak as all the main systems were down and considerable panic ensued!!!!! Needless to say the phone was changed shortly after.

I had a similar handset upgrade shortly afterwards and called back in the wee smalls a few times.( didn`t do much for PAYG minutes either)
A tame Nokia contact said there was a software update to fix this, but the idiots knew nothing about it at the shop I got it from.

I was glad when it got nicked soon after, 3am calls don`t do you much good. that was the last phone i`ve bothered insuring since they keep sending me more and more (ergonomically crapper) handsets.
.
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 21:10, Reply)

Photos
My mate often leaves his phone lying around at work or down the pub. I like to look at his photos to see if he has any pics of his wifes tits; none found yet...
(kitescreech still here, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 17:56, 3 replies)

Big Ian reminded me of this
Mrs Kite, God bless her, loves fiddling with her phone; altering the settings, exploring rarely used menus (sort of a piss poor Lara Croft). One day she found the language section. Her brow furrowed. A thought flittered across her mind. "If I change it to Tukish it will translate whatever I type (in English) into Turkish, right?"

Wrong.

Cue much panic as she tried to remember which route she had taken to the menu to change it back - in the end I was able (as I had the same phone) to found out and change it back. We still laugh about it to this day. (well I do)
(kitescreech still here, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 17:49, Reply)

*deliverance theme playing softly*
My housemate is off on a camping trip this weekend in the peak district/lake district, dunno which, not important. He was for some reason a bit nervous about going (turns out its cos he shagged a possible fellow camper's ex) and was thinking of reasons not to go, such as:
Him: What if there are bears?
Me: I doubt there are bears in the peak district.
Him: What if there are paedos and they come into my tent?
Me: You're 23, dude. Bit old for that huh?
Him: *dials a number into his phone and presses call* What if there are gay bum rapists after my arse...Hello? Er, Did you hear that? Erm...nevermind...
(Ryuken-Kai, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 16:51, Reply)

Bluetooth Name
Two events had fallen together:

1. I had a new job
2. Tool had released 10,000 Days

My Bluetooth name on my phone was usually something like "GodlessAtheist" or "HerGhost", but because of #2, above, that day it was, "ILikeToWatchThingsDie", which if I recall correctly, only just fit.

My boss decided to send out some contacts that I would need, and decided to do it by Bluetooth.

"What is your phone called?"
"Err, 'herghost', I think"
"No, I've only got 'Nokia 1234' and 'ILikeToWatchThingsDie'"
"Oh. Yeah. That's me."
"Funny; that never came up in the interview"

:s
(Her Ghost zomegle.com, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 16:28, 1 reply)

2-minute Silence
Was at an Oldham Athletic match about 5 years ago, watching my brother play. At the beginning of the game there was a 2 minute silence for a police officer that had been killed or injured or something.

Of all the places you think to put your 'phone on silent, a football match is not one.

As a consequence the section of the crowd that I was in were treated to the Nokia version of Fuga for pretty much the entire 2 minutes because my then girlfriend wasn't one to take the hint and hang up after about 8 rings.

I stood there trying to discretely punch myself in the chest to try to silence the beast without having to concede and be seen to be the guy whose phone was ringing at an inappropriate time. But would it stop? No chance.

It's apparently only possible to accidentally answer a phone when you are talking disparagingly about someone. And in those instances, only to that exact person.
(Her Ghost zomegle.com, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 16:21, Reply)

One of the best stray texts I ever received:
"JUST GOT OUT OF THE PARLOUR. GOT QUIM TATTOOED DOWN THERE IN BUBBLE LETTERS!"
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 12:40, 1 reply)

Quim
Cheeky Pea-roast...

Back in the day me and my mate Dave had a running gag where we'd answer the phone as a made-up business with a rhyming tagline. I think it originated from an episode of the Simpsons.

So time and time again he'd ring me or I'd ring him to be greeted with something along the lines of:

"Archibald's Taxidermy - they snuff it, we stuff it"

or

"Necrophilia Unlimited - you slay it, we lay it"

It kept us amused but it's difficult to keep coming up with new ones and, being the childish cock-monkeys we were, they just kept getting more and more filthy.

You can already see where this one is going can't you.....?

Anyway inspiration hit me one day and I wrote one down ready for the next time Dave phoned. Lo and behold a few days later my phone rings and the display flashes "Dave:home".

In my best "I run a business" voice I answer it thus:

"Slim Jim's Quim Trim - you grow it, we mow it" and start giggling to myself.

I sensed something was wrong when there was no laughter from the other end and things got rather worse when a very female and not-at-all-Dave voice asked "Mark? Is that you? I'm looking for Dave".

Yup. I'd just asked my best mate's mum if she wanted her quim trimmed.
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Sun 2 Aug 2009, 12:14, 1 reply)