New cell phone: yay!
New phone number: boo.
But I'm not complaining too loudly. Paul got me an iPhone for my birthday last week, which is a huge step up from the brick-of-a-phone I've been carrying for the last several years. My old phone didn't even have a camera, let alone internet access.
The one thing my old phone did have, however, was a 614 area code. We vaguely meant to exchange our Columbus numbers for New York ones when we moved here, but we never did. But with our new phones, we had no choice. We switched providers, and AT&T wouldn't allow us to keep the old numbers without a billing address in the area code. So 917 it is.
It's a pain, but it's also kind of exciting too. I feel like I'm part of the New York cellular family.
Sure, we had a 718 area code on our home phone until we recently disconnected it, but that's not the same. That area code was exclusively for the outer boroughs of New York (i.e., everywhere but Manhattan), but 917 is for any cell phone, anywhere in the city. It's the code that binds us together.
At the same time, I'm sad to have shed the 614. Paul got some razzing from people at work for holding onto it, but no one I encountered ever mentioned it. I got my first cell phone in college, so I've never had a cell number in any other area code. It seemed as much a part of me as my hobbies or the color of my eyes.