The look of distress on my 26-year-old friend's face said that something was terribly wrong. And it was: “My cellphone is broken,” he said. “I've lost all my numbers.”
To a Gen Y like me, losing your cellphone is worse than being forced to download music through a dialup connection. I know, because I once lost my cellphone while traveling and couldn't call my mom or my wife for two days. I didn't know their numbers — they were speed dial No. 1 and speed dial No. 2.