Shall I call him?

I stared at the phone. 

Should I call him? I thought. I mean, should I demand an explanation? Or is groveling apology what I really need. 

I tidied my room. Damn small room, why does it have to be so easy to clear? 

I looked at the phone. Picked it up. Put it down. Pick it up. Then throw it on the floor. Then realised my absolute stupidity. "NO!!!"

I stared at the blank screen. Dead. Great. I try all methods of spontaneous phone-fixing, like pressing the buttons really hard, banging it on my desk, and taking out all removable parts, but to no avail. So then I called the helpline on my home phone. After decades of being 'on hold', when I finally get through to some braindead, acne ridden moron, he doesn't know what to do. "What do you mean, you do don' have the necessary qualifications to diagnose a problem?" I said, trying (and almost failing) to keep calm. "The phone is broken. It fell on the floor. How do I fix it?!?" After a few minutes, I hung up. I looked at my poor old phone, then flung it on the bed. "Honey?" my mum called up the stairs. "Can I have the phone, I need to call Grandma." Great. No phone. My life officially sucked.

The End

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