This is a love letter. I’ve never written many of them in my life. Whenever I have, they’ve often devolved into seriously messed up pornography. Writing love letters when you’re a teenage boy is like filming a movie with cheap sets and Sasha Grey–no matter what you are trying to do, it’s gonna end up being porn. Fifty-seven words in and I’m already off topic. The topic today is my phone. My phone is an absolute marvel of mobile phone engineering. Having lived in North America for more than the life of my cell phone, I have seen friends, neighbours, family members and complete strangers go through phones faster than they go through pairs of shoes. My cell phone, right now, is like a pair of shoes that have lasted seven years without being resoled.

Back when I was thirteen years old and in middle school, I was a putz. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. Among other putzy things I did–ill behaviour in school, letting girls who would never value me string me along–I made my mother pay $300 for a brand new phone, simply because it had a full keyboard and looked frickin’ cool. This phone was the Nokia 3300. It had all these new features, like web surfing, SMS e-mail, a full QWERTY keyboard, at least four games and a built in mp3 player. It came with a radio, two different headsets–this phone was the bee’s frickin’ knees. I made my mom pay $300 dollars for a phone. By contrast, there have been phones with these features available from Nokia for free with the plan I’m on now for the last few years. But I made my mom pay $300 dollars because I wanted the cool looking phone with all those special features.

On the ride home from the Rogers Store, I read all the manuals for this phone back to front, I don’t know how many times. I fell in love with this phone. If I didn’t thank my mother enough on the way home from the Rogers Store, let me say now: thank you, mom, from the bottom of my heart. This phone is perhaps the best I’ve ever encountered. And now, seven years after having bought it, it definitely seems worth the $300 pricetag. When I got home, I plugged it in and started it charging away. I didn’t really have anyone to text in the beginning, aside from that girl stringing me along that I mentioned earlier. As time went by, I started gathering more texting buddies–a few girls here, a few other girls there. I don’t really think I cared who it was I was texting–as long as I was getting some use out of my phone, I was happy.

The real brilliance of the 3300 didn’t begin to show for the next four years of marital bliss. That is, married to my phonital bliss. I used that thing for casual conversations with chicks, casual texting with chicks, casual everything with chicks. How to put this–my phone was like the ultimate interface for all of my chickly needs. To this day, the only thing that gets me in more close contact with more women is the design of my phone. Specifically, how very classic it is makes all the girls go WHAT? If ever a woman has been within a five foot radius of my heart in the last five years, it’s because of the delicious anachronism that is my phone.

My phone is pretty crap compared to the other phones I’ve seen about and around in this day and age. I check up on the iPhones, the iPhone superiors and whatever crap everyone else is putting out these days. I gotta say, my phone doesn’t have a camera. Have I ever missed having a camera? Sure. I would totally love to have a camera. Granted, I’d also love to have a camcorder, and I’d like for both of those to be somewhat higher quality than the kind you get included in a palm sized package that also makes phone calls. Would I like a better mp3 player? Sure. Would I like more sophisticated games? Why not. Better web browsing? Yes. But hey, you know what else I want? A phone that I can rely on to work when I need it. And a phone that will do what I rely on it to do when I rely on it to do so. And in terms of phones and phone quality, by that measure, the Nokia 3300 is the best phone that’s ever been owned by any human being on Earth.

But the reason I’m writing this love letter to my good old Nokia 3300 is because it’s finally beginning to show its age. My phone has been around longer than some children I’m acquainted with. Whenever I see people on Facebook post pictures of their oldest friend, or the person who’s gotten them through the most, or the person who is the most important person in their life–all I want to do is do the 30 Day Photo Challenge just to put down my phone for all three of those. My phone’s been around for seven years and it’s either time for a new battery or a new phone. And while going phone shopping is an idea that scares me worse than Jason Voorhees on my tail, machete at the ready, maybe it’s just time to move on. All in all, I just want to say this.

Thank you, Nokia. Seven years ago, you made an entirely unremarkable phone that doesn’t even have its own Wikipedia page. It’s often confused for an N-Gage, a handheld game console or just something I keep around for texting. This entirely unremarkable model of phone has been featured in my pockets and at least one music video by Chingy. You remember Chingy? Nobody remembers Chingy. But people do remember my Nokia 3300. If there were a way to keep a phone beyond its entire lifespan, if there were a way to keep my phone around past its dying battery and screwy screen, I would.

So please, Nokia, please–can we work together to keep my phone alive? I am looking at other phones today, tomorrow, every day–but if there were a way to keep this phone, or bring back this model or bring back this shape and keyboard layout, I wouldn’t care if it involved watching Deuce Bigalow: Eurpoean Gigolo. I would do it. Because my Nokia 3300 is my favourite possession ever. Thank you, Nokia. Thank you.