SIMple Pleasures

Subscriber Identity Module. Am I the only person who just found out what the SIM in SIM card stands for?

I pride myself on being a true inhabitant of the twenty-first century. I try my best to talk the talk. As much as I've always wanted to refer to the thingy that stores stuff in my cell phone as the TTSS card, I accept that SIM sounds better. And "subscriber identity module" is certainly a more fitting title for the tiny chip that is truly worth its weight in gold.

My cell phone died the other day, making me wonder how on earth I survived the first thirty or so years of my life without one. For a full day, without time to travel to the Device Support Center (DSC?) so a very specialized technician could confirm that my phone was indeed dead and give me another one, I was lost. Lost without the flashing red light reassuring me at regular intervals that I am sought after (even if it's usually by some retail store promoting its latest wares). Lost without the ability to call someone when I was, actually, lost in the car. Lost without all those phone numbers and email addresses stored in that precious little module thingy.

That night, I panicked momentarily when the American Airlines website, which had inexplicably dropped half my reservation from the day before, told me I would have to call customer service to retrieve the flights. Call? With what? I was stymied, until I glanced over and saw my land line, that cumbersome black box with wires coming out the back and all sorts of awkward moving parts. Positively medieval. They might as well have suggested I send smoke signals. But I muddled through.

Yesterday, when I finally located the Device Support Center -- after driving back and forth several times because I could not call anyone for directions -- the highly specialized technician typed away furiously at his computer for a few minutes, tried to turn on my phone, confirmed that it was indeed dead, and brought out a replacement. I was literally salivating as I watched him transfer the SIM card, close things up, and power up my new "device." I couldn't wait to call (well, text) everyone I know to tell them I was back.

But saliva turned to bile when the highly specialized technician informed me there was nothing on my SIM card, that I must have saved everything to the now defunct "device" instead of the "module." My world came crashing down; that precious little chip had failed me, was indeed nothing more than a thingy that stores stuff, and apparently not very well. There are no yellow pages for cell numbers; I was officially disconnected, totally lost.

Thankfully, the highly specialized technician was either an idiot or a liar. My little module was, as it turns out, jam packed with all the information I need to stay constantly in touch, and to always know what exciting new items have arrived at the mall.