It’s not that I’m especially stupid, or even terribly averse to new technologies, but I’ll never be that cool girl all jazzed about a new iThing. I’m the girl who inadvertently turns off the phone while it’s in GPS mode and we’re circling an unfamiliar city block with he-touched-me-stop-looking-at-me-are-we-there-yet boys in the backseat. I’m the girl who doesn’t know which icon to tap, or why the screen is black again, or why all queries lead back to iTunes. I’m the girl who asks the 8 year old how to take a screen shot and email the picture… exasperating said 8 year old in the process. So when my (first generation, I-hate-change) iPhone began to act all wonky, I attempted to hide it from the husband for as long as possible.
Him: What’s wrong with your phone?
Me: Um, it just kind of turns black if I send too many texts. Or check email.
Him: Is it the battery?
Me: (blank stare)
Him: You need a new phone.
I’m assuming most people tear open a box from the Apple store rather immediately. Not me. Because I know that whatever is in there isn’t going to work. Well, it’s not going to work right away, or for me, or without a lot of cursing from the husband.
Him: Was the phone delivered yet?
Me: I think so.
Him: Did you look at it?
Me: I looked at the box.
Him: Go plug it in and follow the screen prompts to activate it.
Me: (radio silence)
Poor Bernie. After ten solid hours of surgery, husband returns to home and hearth and the ineffectual phone upgrade attempts by blonde wife. It was no surprise to either of us that my old phone did not appear anywhere on the computer after 45 minutes of spinning icon. I’ll never know where I sent all of my phone numbers, and funny texts, and fuzzy (first generation!) pictures of report cards and lost teeth. But kind, exhausted husband doesn’t balk at this, and does something with a Cloud and now the new phone looks like a shinier version of the old one and so, yay!, new phone, right?
Him: Now, just follow the instructions on the screen to activate the phone.
Me: It won’t let me type letters.
Him: There aren’t any letters in the activation code.
Me: There’s a “K.”
Him: Oh my God.
Ultimately letter-free codes are found and new phone is all spinny icon and the computer promises me that it will send me a chipper email when it’s all done. Alas, no email. After 8 hours the shiny phone is still all spinny icon. Husband, racing for airport in the wee hours, tells me to I’ll have to talk to customer service people. Because current strategies of haphazard icon clicking and magical thinking aren’t working. Dread. Customer service people have questions I cannot answer. I know how it’s going to go already.
Them: Hi, how can I help you?
Me: The new phone looks like the old phone, but it’s still all spinny icon and I didn’t get the email.
Them: Let’s start with your order number.
Me: The one that starts with a “K?”
Them: Could you put your husband on the phone?
They start fielding calls from dolts like me in fifteen minutes. I feel bad for them already.