Tag Archives: Apple

Love to Hate You

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I have always been a creature of habit.  I like things the same way, all the time.  White bread with butter and strawberry jam is the same breakfast I have loved since the age of three.   As an adult, after years of resistance, I finally caved and bought a Filofax, only to find streets full of Palm Pilots.  And I still long for the days when Manchester, England, ruled the clubbing scene.  You are probably racking your brain trying to remember when that was – and I urge you to stop, simply because it was a REALLY long time ago.

Nevertheless, when an iPhone showed up miraculously in my hand, I fell in love recklessly.  I tossed out all loyalty to the trusty Filofax, to the once ingenious MP3 player that had turned me into a runner, and to my adored Swatch which had left a permanent love line on my wrist.  The phone was an awakening of sorts that led me to consider that I might transform in other ways. Perhaps I could one day be carefree, adventurous, fond of sports, and ready for orange marmalade.  This step led to the birth of other cohorts, namely l’il MacBook and ole iPad; but iPhone and I were always inseparable.

It is now nearly a decade later, and I am mulling over my relationship with technology.  As a victim of severe clutter phobia, it is gratifying to know my life is contained in one device.  Nothing of importance is on the countertops, or tacked on the wall, or in the nether regions of my purse with last year’s gum.  However, my neurotic nature means there is always something to research, confirm, respond to, and get ahead of.  It has been far too easy to review my meeting schedule, text on the current Jen-Ben marriage status, and check on the dog’s GPS location, while he naps two feet from me – all while “relaxing” and reading the newspaper on my screen.

Years of this, and I am worn out.  There must be another way.  Something less complicated.  Something that isn’t constantly nagging me with notifications of what I have forgotten to do.  Or flashing regular reminders comparing me with other, better users who delight in using technology to its full potential.  And who said this iPhone is so perfect anyway?  It certainly doesn’t look as good as when we first met.  And the ringer never functions properly, but have I ever complained?

I’ll admit, I have started leaving it at home when I walk to buy coffee.  And it has felt good.  Sometimes I even turn it off completely. Then I feel guilty, and turn it back on when I remember how much of my life is held in it.  I don’t know exactly what I am doing.  It’s a dangerous path I am starting on, I know.  But at this age, I owe it to myself to see where it will take me.

Third-world problems, first-world Monday

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“Passengers: we are holding behind another train, and expect shhhhgrrrtttshhh.  At this time, geeeeshhhhhhhtttttt.  Thank you.”

I look up, as if squinting fiercely at the Metro handrails will help me better understand the train’s speaker system.  No, still no idea what was said.  I stick my hand into my oversize purse and start feeling around: old, slightly soft apple, tube of lip gloss, electricity bill, assorted dog hairs, and finally, mobile phone.  “Team – train delayed,” is how my email starts, until I realize we are between stations, and there isn’t any phone service.  I hit “send” anyway, hoping for another secret tech deal between Apple and frenemy Google, that will allow this email to be delivered.

Nothing to do now, but wait.  Maybe I can get caught up on the industry news, which is my euphemism for reading my horoscope and the advice column.  But I quickly realize that without my phone, I am disconnected from The New York Times, AdAge, and Oprah.com.  I think the electric bill had some inserts on saving energy, which would surely be interesting reading.

By the time, the train pulls into my station, I have missed my bus.  But I am not frazzled, for in America, there are always taxis.  And of course, there is a mandatory Whole Foods across the street, watching over all of us.

But today, there aren’t any taxis.  Because it is snowing.   And when it’s snowing in Washington, D.C., people morph into helpless one-year olds, incapable of navigating the streets on foot or driving themselves.  It’s a good business day for taxis.

I pace on the sidewalk; I hate being late to the office, even if all I will do upon arrival is forage for coffee.  Thankfully, a black taxi pulls up, with a gold emblem on its side.  It looks strangely familiar.  I open the door exactly as I realize my suspicion is true.

“Hi, it’s lovely to see you again,” the voice inside gushes.

“You still don’t take credit cards, right?”  I stammer.

I step back onto the curb, and close the door, as the color drains from my face.   How is it possible, in the land of plenty, to run into the exact same taxi driver who hit on you a few days earlier?  The one who found my people to be “so smart, so good, so beautiful, and so many software engineers.”

More importantly, is the question of the train system’s performance.  Why does the train get to sit on the platform several times a week – while I would receive an official warning from Human Resources if I decided to stop moving in the hallway, a few feet from my desk?

I quickly slide into the backseat of the yellow cab that pulls in a few minutes later.  Within ten minutes, I have arrived at the heavy glass doors of my office building.  Considering how the morning has started, proper nutrition suddenly seems important.  I stop into my office for the last packet of oatmeal from my snack cabinet, and head into the company kitchen.

Bowl, water, oatmeal.  I open the microwave with my left hand, and proceed to topple all three items onto my right hand.  The liquid starts overflowing onto the counter top.  Happy Monday!