An account of a suspicious death, corporate indifference, and one very jealous iPad.
Today I took my son to Best Buy to have the screen protector on his iPhone replaced. Nothing particularly exciting. Just one of those mundane errands that comes with owning modern technology, where we spend hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars on sophisticated little devices only to spend additional money protecting them from the very people who purchased them.
As is our custom whenever we venture out together, we talked.
We always talk. About everything and nothing in particular. Sometimes it’s life, sometimes it’s something interesting or utterly ridiculous that happened at work. Sometimes we discuss the state of the world, which, depending on the day, can be considerably more ridiculous than anything happening at work.
Our conversations tend to wander. One subject leads to another, which takes an unexpected turn, and before long we’re discussing something that has absolutely nothing to do with where we started.
Today, the subject was a cracked screen protector. A seemingly harmless topic. But it reminded me of a tragedy. A tragedy involving an iPhone 6, an iPad, and what I maintain to this day was an act of premeditated electronic violence.
Allow me to explain.
Some years ago, back when the iPhone 6 was the latest technological marvel and Apple was still convincing us that each new phone would fundamentally transform civilization, I purchased one.
Brand-new. Fresh out of the box. A beautiful little piece of engineering. Sleek, shiny, sophisticated. The kind of object you handle with the reverence normally reserved for ancient religious artifacts or particularly expensive pastries.
It was magnificent. And completely naked. No case. No screen protector. Nothing between that delicate glass and the cruel, unforgiving world.
I knew better, of course. I’ve always known better. But there is something irresistible about a brand-new phone in its natural state. Covering it immediately seems almost disrespectful to the designers who spent countless hours making it look so beautiful.
Besides, what could possibly happen? I had only owned the thing for a few hours.
I spent much of that evening setting it up. Transferring contacts, exploring its features, downloading apps, adjusting settings, and generally becoming acquainted with my newest electronic companion. We were getting along splendidly.
By bedtime, I was quite pleased with my purchase. I got ready for bed, plugged the phone into its charger, and placed it on the nightstand. Directly beneath it sat my iPad Pro, also charging.
Now, this is an important detail. At the time, I thought nothing of it. Two Apple products, peacefully sharing the same space, enjoying the benefits of a reliable electrical supply.
A harmonious little technological family. Or so I believed.
Sometime during the night, I was awakened by a loud crash.
Not a little bump or the gentle clatter of something shifting. This was a substantial noise. The kind that momentarily convinces your sleeping brain that something important has happened, although not necessarily important enough to investigate.
I sat up. Looked around. Nothing. The room was dark. Everything appeared quiet. There were no intruders, no obvious signs of catastrophe, and no immediate indication that my continued existence required action.
I considered getting up. Briefly. Then, exercising the sound judgment of a man who values sleep over nearly everything else, I went back to bed. Whatever had fallen could remain fallen until morning.
Morning arrived. I got up, dragged my sleepy ass to the bathroom, attended to the usual administrative responsibilities of being a functioning human being, showered, dressed, and prepared to face the day.
Eventually, I returned to collect my belongings. Wallet. Keys. Phone.
Phone?
Where was my phone? I looked toward the nightstand. And that’s when I saw it.
There, on the floor, lay my beautiful, brand-new iPhone 6. On its back. Its screen shattered. And resting directly on top of it, with one corner planted squarely into the middle of the unfortunate phone’s display, was my iPad Pro.
The iPad was completely unharmed. Not a scratch. Not a dent. Not so much as a blemish. I stared at the scene. Then at the iPad. Then back at the phone.
Something was terribly wrong.
Now, a reasonable person might have concluded that the charging cables had become tangled, that one device had slipped, or that some unfortunate combination of gravity and poor placement had resulted in an expensive accident.
But I am not always inclined to accept the reasonable explanation. Especially when the evidence suggests something far more sinister. This was no accident. This was a crime scene.
My iPad had murdered my iPhone. In cold blood. And the motive, as far as I could determine, was jealousy.
Think about it. For months, perhaps years, the iPad had enjoyed a privileged position in my electronic household. It was my trusted companion. My window to the internet. My source of entertainment, information, and occasional distraction. Then, without warning, this shiny little upstart arrived.
Suddenly, I was spending hours admiring the new arrival, touching its screen, exploring its features, whispering appreciative comments about its elegant design.
Meanwhile, the iPad sat nearby. Watching. Waiting. Seething. I had been so enamored with the new phone that I had failed to recognize the warning signs. And now it was too late.
The evidence was overwhelming. The victim had suffered catastrophic injuries. The accused was found literally on top of the body. There were no witnesses, although I had heard the fatal altercation sometime during the night.
The suspect had no visible injuries. Classic signs of a one-sided confrontation. There was motive. There was opportunity. There was a body. And the perpetrator was still at the scene, apparently making no effort whatsoever to conceal its involvement.
The arrogance was breathtaking.
Naturally, I contacted AppleCare. I felt reasonably confident that once I explained the circumstances, the good people at Apple would recognize the seriousness of the situation.
After all, these were their products. Surely they would want to know that one of their devices had turned against another.
I described the incident as accurately as possible. The brand-new iPhone. The charging arrangement. The mysterious crash in the middle of the night. The shattered screen. The unharmed iPad resting suspiciously on top of its fallen sibling.
I even offered my theory regarding motive. Jealousy. Possibly resentment. Certainly a deeply dysfunctional relationship between two members of the same product family.
The representative was not persuaded. Apparently, AppleCare had a rather narrow definition of what constituted an accident. They seemed particularly uninterested in the possibility of electronic homicide.
Instead, they suggested that the damage resulted from user error.
User error.
I was offended.
Here I was, reporting what appeared to be a clear case of aggravated assault resulting in the untimely death of a perfectly innocent iPhone, and they were suggesting that I was somehow responsible.
Had I pushed the iPad?
No.
Had I struck the phone?
Certainly not.
Had I instructed one device to attack the other?
Absolutely not.
I had been asleep. I was, if anything, an innocent bystander. An earwitness, perhaps. And yet AppleCare seemed determined to place the blame squarely on me. There would be no investigation. No forensic examination.No interrogation of the surviving device. Not even a polite acknowledgment that jealousy among electronic siblings might warrant further study.
The verdict was swift. User error. Case closed.
And apparently, AppleCare did not cover sibling rivalry. The iPad continued functioning normally for years afterward, showing absolutely no remorse.
I kept a close eye on it. You can never be too careful with a device that has demonstrated such a capacity for violence.
Which brings me back to today’s visit to Best Buy. There I was, standing with my son, watching someone replace a cracked screen protector on his iPhone, recalling an incident from years ago that had somehow become part of our family’s collection of ridiculous stories.
We laughed about it. Of course we did. Because sometimes the funniest things in life aren’t particularly remarkable when they happen. They’re small disasters, minor inconveniences, unexpected absurdities that acquire character through the retelling.
And sometimes all it takes is a cracked screen protector to bring one of those stories back to life. I suppose there’s a lesson in all this.
Always protect your phone. Never underestimate gravity. And, most importantly, if you bring a shiny new electronic device into your home, make sure the older ones feel appreciated. You never know what they’re capable of.
As for that iPad? It got away with murder.
And AppleCare was an accessory after the fact.
There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com.
Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing—one post at a time.
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© 2026 Mariano Velez ~ InkBlotz Press
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