So, It should be clear by now that I did have a good night, good enough to come home at close to 3am, that was last Saturday. A friend who was having an evening of a similar nature but of a longer duration started texting me at some odd hour after 2am. Regretfully I was firmly on the route home with no desire loop back to down town after all the trains had long since stopped running.
On the walk home from the bus stop I received a couple more texts, this time it was raining hardish. I don't want to say it was raining hard I have not been in Vancouver long enough to be a qualified judge of rain types. Without giving it much thought I typed( a generous description of what I have to do with the damn alphanumeric pad my crappy phone has) a reply. The texts largely consisted of I am here doing this, to which I replied I am else where and had enough of doing that.
During that process my higher functions were still partly offline due to a pleasant level of intoxication. So the math of Rain + Phone = Bad did not cross my mind. It would have been slow to cross my mind sober as well. The craptastic motorola had one or two features worth having, one of which was a ruggedized latex similar sink too keep water and crap out. Unfortunately that started to disintegrate and I had pealed much of it off because it was ugly.
So step forward half an hour, my phone is on the kitchen table, I am drunkenly updating facebook. Thankfully nothing too interesting happened that night, so I was mostly just overly cheerful. After I finish with the interwebs I make for bed.
Somewhere in there I hear my phone say from the kitchen table.
Please Say a Command.
Please Say a Command.
This happens some times, it should only happen when the button on the side gets pushed. Keys or change in the pocket with the phone can set it off. All by its self it should do nothing. I do what I always do, Tell it to Fuck off and push a button to make it shut off. I am not even sure if I told it to fuck off on this occasion. After that I thought nothing of it and went to bed.
Perhaps if I had superstition I could have fished an omen out of having Telephone by Lady Gaga in my head just before bed. It was one of the last songs I recall in the club. Lacking superstition, I will go for irony in its place. As I slept my phone engineered its own robot uprising. Time after time starting at some time around 3:45 am till near 8 am it repeatedly dialed and redialed my sisters cell.
Looking at the call log, there were multiple times where the delay between redials was effectively zero. If I did not know any better my phone was attempting a Denial of Service Attack, simple hack involving getting allot of devices knocking on a door till it opens and security is breached. Thankfully the robot uprising is over.