Oh, that was Beeeg Mark-Up Cell Phone.

"Hey lady, you want something YOU-NEEK?"

Anknotsetto was new in town, trying to raise money for a new pyramid. She was an architect of some renown, at least within a hamlet or two upHap (upriver).

"Pyramids are SOOO passe! A thousand years out of date!" That's what her backers had told her.

"But mine are unique," she'd said. "Upside down, they stand on their pinnacles. How many pyramids do that? How can that be passe? Every fad has a comeback, with a new twist; every Anubis has its day."

Her putative backers had slammed their doors -- repeatedly -- until Ankhnotsetto had gone away.

Now she was in the Bazaar, ignoring an oddly-dressed woman who'd just come out from one of the tents. Ankhnotsetto found herself entering that tent. Jewelry. Just like what any self-respecting architect required when faced with the immutable force of unhappy putative backers. Fortification, that's what she needed.

That's how she heard the proprietor say,

"Hey lady, you want something YOU-NEEK?"

"Okay, impress me."

"I have here a BG MRKP SL-FWN. That's a Big Marvelous SL-FWN. Listen here, it makes noises." The man depressed a series of buttons and the thing began playing what might have been a tune, which some observant outsider from a few millenia away might have recognized as "Don't Worry Be Happy".

She was engrossed.

He decided not to show this fine looking lady the pictures inside. It might not quite be a selling point. Let her find this feature for herself. "What can you pay me in exchange?"

The BG MRKP SL-FWN began playing "Walk Like an Egyptian". Kind of infectious really. Anknotsetto began dancing. They worked out a trade, always amusing when a person was employed in the service field in a country where they hadn't gotten around to inventing money just yet. Anknotsetto has passed over a lapis bracelet and the promise of roughing out a design for the man's first born son's tomb. Kid wasn't even born yet, so she figured she'd gotten off pretty light. She passed over her business rock (a flat thing about 2 by three inches or less, carved with her name and address, minus all the vowels, of course. The only way it would fit. This was exactly why Egyptians didn't use vowels to begin with.)

NKNTST NFR HFR it read.

She left the bazaar, happy with her purchase, but still muttering about her pathetically problematic putative backers.