What exacty is a SIM card

12.11.07

I drove Mohammad and Rani to a Hinckley Hall 2100 Floor Activity. We got there after most of the girls had left, which was disappointing; I was overextending (as usual), trying to be a “cool” RA by organizing a s’more campfire activity with my girls, as well as show off one of my favorite American cultural activities to my international friends. Not just any international students; these were my Arab friends. I was a sophomore in college, in Arabic 201. I had barely changed majors to Middle East Studies and Arabic. Two Arab boys lived a stone’s throw away in Budge Hall, and I became extremely collante, as the French would say – sticky. I would have done just about anything for them.

Even though most of the girls had already left, I was determined to make the campfire be an enjoyable experience for my Arab friends. I called some people, we got a big fire going, a modest crowd, stories, jokes, laughter – Mohammad wanted to invite Omar. I thought “Great! He must not be having too horrible of a time!” Alas, Mohammad’s phone was dead. He asked to borrow mine. I told him, “I don’t have Omar’s phone number!” “Is okay!” replied Mohammad. I gave him a confused look, but handed him my phone. My stomach lurched when I saw him open the back, where the battery is. “What are you doing?” “No problem, no problem, dohn’ worry!” He switched our SIM cards, put the battery back in, called Omar, switched the SIM cards back, Omar came with two cars full of people, and we lived happily ever after.

A cell phone is nothing without a SIM card, a tiny little computer chip that not only stores the names and numbers (unless you have it set to save-numbers-to-phone in your settings menu), but also allows the phone companies to recognize you. The body of a cell phone is nothing without a SIM card, and vice versa. It’s kind of like a door and a key.

When I came to Jordan last summer, I bought a phone for 30 JD, and my friend Nedal gave me an old SIM card with the company Fastlink. Jordanians understand SIM cards. They switch them (like Mohammad), and separate them from their phone with ease (like Nedal).

Driving to the JFK airport with Trevor, our conversation somehow stumbled upon this subject. At the time, we were in a spot of heavy traffic – bad drivers exist everywhere in the world, seriously! Black van, no lights, hugging Trevor’s blindspot!? – I made a bold statement: “Americans don’t know what SIM cards are.”
“Yes they do! Everyone knows what a SIM card is! It’s…”
“I know you know what a SIM card is, but the average American has no clue!”
“You’re underestimating their intelligence!”
“Ask anyone!”
“Fine!”
“Hey! Matt Cox just called! I’ll ask him, and you’ll see!”
I wonder if Matt was confused why I was asking, practically shouting, about SIM cards when he was trying to give me a bon-voyage phone call. He didn’t act like it was weird, but then again, one time, I asked him if boys and girls could be identical twins, so…
“Um, let me ask my brother,” said Matt.
“See, SEE?!?!?” I shouted at Trevor.
He proceeded to curse, both at me, and the moron with the black van. Country music was blasting, the New York Skyline was in sight, with a beautiful sunset – “Can I change lanes? Can I go??!?? Can I go!?!?” – what a beautiful memory!!!

As smug as I felt (after all, I had proved the general American ignorance about SIM cards to be true), I double proved my point waiting for my plane to France the next day. I had two phones, the one I bought for 30 JDs, and my pink Razr that Cingular never gave me the rebate for. Two SIM cards, one ultra-super roaming (the Atlantic ocean mean anything?), the other with all my numbers and info. I didn’t bring the charger for my Razr. I looked everywhere in the airport for someone who would sell me the right cell phone charger so I could call my friends. I even went out of security (pain in the cul) to check the inside-the-airport-outside-security-area stores, but nobody had what I was looking for. I sat down, sweaty – mostly from wearing half of my wardrobe to maximize my weight limit – and pissed off. Supply and demand, where are you? I was willing to pay the $15-20 they would have charged for a charger. Then I realized that I could pull a Mohammad and switch the SIM cards, which made me feel like a complete moron.

In the end, I just memorized Trevor’s number. It was an easier solution.

Cell phones are a status symbol here. My Arab sisters Senaa and Hibba agreed that I need to get the same service provider – Mobilecom - as them, to be more cost effective – and that I need to use my Razr, not my 30 JD Nokia. We went to the store last night, and bought a SIM card that dials 3 numbers free (or cheaper; I may not have understood), and a charger for my cell phone for a total of 9.5 JD, which is either $7 or $15, but either way, the SIM card in the states would have cost at least three times as much.
Majnoon!