Last Thursday on the metro in Riyadh somebody's phone started playing the old Nokia tune. Da da da da da.
I turned around so fast I hit a man's elbow. Everyone above 30 in that carriage did the same.
We all looked at each other like someone had said a name from school. Nobody said a word.
The guy finally answered it. Very serious voice. Yes sir, no sir. It was his boss calling.
My first phone was a Nokia 1100 that my brother passed down in 2006. No colour, no camera.
It had a torch though. That torch got me through 3 power cuts a week during my final exams.
I never changed the ringtone. Everybody I knew had the same one, so on a bus 6 people reached for their pockets.
You couldn't tell whose phone it was until someone picked up. Nobody minded.
Snake was the other thing. I reached 600 points in 1 maths class and the teacher took the phone for a week.
My mother said she'd never give it back. She gave it back on day 3, and made me promise to charge it myself.
Phones had a weight to them then. You could drop one off the roof and just replace the cover.
Mine fell down the stairs about 40 times. The battery lasted 5 days. I miss that more than the tune.
Now my phone has 11 different tones I never hear. Yesterday I put the Nokia one on as my alarm.
It's very hard to be angry at a morning with that sound. I woke up grumpy and then smiled for no reason.
The neighbour knocked to ask what the noise was. I told him it was history.
He's 24 and has never owned a phone with buttons. I felt very old and also very happy.