I got a camera phone in early January and, while I didn’t really want it, it’s ended up being a fun little toy. Last Wednesday though, it began acting possessed; it would “press” buttons (dial, mute, open contacts, etc.) on its own, even when the clamshell was closed and it was sitting alone on a table. I knew there was a real problem when I heard from across the room someone - I still haven’t figured out who - saying, “Hello? Hello?” from my phone, which had dialed some number while I was away. Fortunately, it had not been taking photos on its own. At least not that I know of. Hopefully none of my contacts received strange photos in their email. Can’t you just picture it? My own phone blackmailing me with dirty photos.

Anyway, as the phone’s still under warranty, I took it into the Verizon store near my house. The “technician” was very nice, thought completely mystified about what would cause such a thing, saying he’d never seen anything like it. Well, yeah. Leave it to me.

In arranging for my replacement, he told me that they could easily transfer all my contacts, but custom ringtones and any photos I’d taken would be deleted. I’d neglected to backup all that stuff on my computer before I went in, but I didn’t want to come back so I told him I couldn’t think of anything I’d need besides contacts, so go ahead and toast ‘em.

Now, a week after I originally got the first phone, I went to an event where an acquaintance of mine dropped his pants (don’t even ask) and gave the world a little sunshine. This acquaintance tends to go “commando” and I managed to take an excellent, close-up photo of… his the rather impressive incident. Like I told Patrick, the camera phone paid for itself that day! I emailed the pic to a mutual friend, we had a laugh, and I forgot all about it.

So, I’m standing in the cellular store when I suddenly remember that photo on my phone. But no big deal, right? It’s just going to get deleted in the transfer. Well… not so much. As it deletes, the phone briefly displays each photo I’d taken. On the technician’s COMPUTER SCREEN.

As I sit there, watching in horror, photos flash by, usually staying for a full half-second - just long enough for everyone around to comprehend what the photo is. There’s one of Patrick smiling. Aw, cute. There’s me looking grumpy when Patrick took my picture. There’s a friend in drag lingerie. Whoops. Then there’s a bare ass, captured at an opportune straight-boy-mooning moment. Even better. Then, a few more photos down, there’s that big ol’ dick, practically saluting the customers.

Once it was all done, the technician - all 17 years of him - turned from his computer screen to me, eyes wide, jaw open. He had a definite look of discomfort, and clearly didn’t know what to say.

I was mortified. What could I say? The techy silently handed me the new phone and as I turned and went out the door, I did what any competent gay boy would: I smiled and winked at him, knowing full well that from now on I’d only be visiting the Verizon store at the other end of town.