...in a land not so far away, a young woman was very sad. She needed to get a new phone, as hers had decided to go for a swim in a pint of Steamwhistle, and was no longer functioning in the way a phone should. So, she put on her most sensible shoes, and headed off to find a Bell Service Centre.
After a long walk down Bloor Street, she reached her destination. She took a deep breath, and entered the store. Once inside, she found herself confronted with two sales clerks. Not knowing which one to pick, she smiled at them both, and chose the one that smiled back. She explained the trials which she had been through, having been without a phone for almost a day, though she glossed over how exactly the phone had come to cease working.
The helpful sales clerk was very sympathetic. He took the phone from the woman and inspected it, to see if he could discern the problem. He turned it around in his hands, opened it up, turned it off and on, and then opened the back of the phone to see the battery.
And with the removal of the back of the case, there was an overwhelming aroma of beer. It swirled around the clerk and our heroine, and she hung her head as the clerk spoke the words she knew she would have to hear:
"That's beer. The warranty doesn't cover beer."
So she reluctantly fished into her purse for her wallet, and paid for an identical version of the broken, beer-logged phone she had bought only months ago. And she left the store not long after, a few hundred dollars poorer.
The moral? Never let friends hold my phone over a full pint. Wait, I mean, 'one's phone'. Because that totally never happened to me.