On Saturday I was going through a drawer full of junk and found my old non-smart (dumb?) phone that I used (embarrassingly) up until the end of 2013. I was curious if the sim card was still active, so I removed the back of the phone and took out the battery. When I tried to put the battery back in, I noticed it was slightly warped.
“Does this battery look weird to you?” I asked Stephen.
“That’s going to explode!” he replied.
And so during the course of one afternoon my old phone went from just taking up space at the bottom of a drawer to being a ticking time bomb.
“What do I do with it?!” I asked, panicked. Just seconds ago I was trying to jam it back into the phone and now I was afraid to touch it.
“Just throw it away.” I showed him the explicit “do not throw away” picture on the battery.
“You want me to just put this bomb in the trash can on top of the egg shells so we can throw carrot shavings and moon cake wrappers on top of it?!”
“Uh… yeah. It’s not going to explore right now… probably.”
You know how when you google some minor health symptom and come away convinced you have cancer and 6 months to live? After 10 minutes of googling “swollen battery” I was convinced my whole building was going to burn down and it was going to be my old cell phone battery’s fault.
I tried to focus on work (and Facebook), but I couldn’t stop researching swollen batteries. I should check my Fitbit heart rate stats for that time, because I’m sure it was through the roof.
I couldn’t just sit around with the battery lying idle in the other room. I had to take care of it. With the precision of a bomb defuser, I taped the end of the battery. Then I placed it in a plastic shopping bag and proceeded to carry it with one finger extended away from me like it was full of fresh dog poo. I took the lift (not the stairs like I usually do) so as not to agitate my battery/bomb/poo and slowly walked to the recycling bins near the Tube station. I’m sure anyone who saw me wondered why this visibly rattled girl threw a bag of dog doodie in the small electronics and batteries recycling bin, but I didn’t care. I could finally breathe, knowing that there was no longer a ticking time bomb at the bottom of my drawer.
“It’s been taken care of,” I told Stephen when I got back.
“I didn’t mean it was going to explore right now,” he replied. “It just might explode one day. You know, like how we’re all gonna die one day.”