I’ve got one more story for tonight: the story of how I came to dislike Quebec. I was digging through my drawers for my pins when I came across this, my first phone ever. It has the kind of replaceable FACE PLATES, where you screw that shit on. None of this clicky face plate stuff that fits over your current one, this one was BA and you weren’t getting that shit off without a screwdriver. I could create my own ringtones using their midi sequencer thing, too. I totally programmed the Pokemon song on it and it was awesome.

It was back in my early high school or late middle school days when my mom decided to go to Quebec, I was like okay cool. I had this really old and tired (and in retrospect, not really cute) panda faceplate which I had been using for over a year, and had been looking around for a new one. Turns out that in a Quebec mall (one that had THREE stories, wow wow) I found this black one that I fell in love with (and would fall in love with it again, it’s sexy) and asked the Quebec kiosk-runner to change my faceplate for me, since I had assumed since he sells faceplates, that he knew how to change them. I immediately regretted doing it since he didn’t speak english at all and I don’t know a lick of french, he didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, and he wouldn’t give my phone back. He unscrewed the back despite my protests and the ENTIRE INSIDES spilled out onto the counter from way up in the air. I knew it was dead the second it happened. He tried to put it back to together and it wouldn’t turn on. He took my money and killed my phone. And he didn’t even say sorry. He was like oh yes it’s fine no worry

BITCH YOU KILLED IT, IT’S DEAD