Why I Gave My Phone Number To A Guy At A Bar This Week
I wrote down my phone number and passed it to a man at a bar this week.
Asked him to call me.
Please, please call me!
My husband is,
So incredibly proud.
As we have a crisis brewing.
With the new laptop I bought.
Like moving into a new house, I need to move my old files onto the new one.
Which is a problem because my old laptop has only a dim pulse.
And my photos won’t transfer.
Every photo of the kids.
My late mother.
Yeah, those photos.
They are not budging.
I have pulled enough hair out over this to weave all of Dolly Parton’s wigs.
Your Advice For Lost Data
“Just plug in your other back up,” you counsel, Dear Reader.
Thank you for what would be reasonable advice.
Had I done proper backing up.
Which I didn’t.
I know, I blew it.
Can I really be the only one who has failed backup?
And I’m not just talking photos.
Saving enough money,
Making a good fire escape route,
Storing 200 cans of food in the basement for end of days.
All great intentions.
None of which I’ve gotten around to, either.
This is how I ended up at the Genius Bar at the Apple Store.
Nirvana Of The Apple Store’s Genius Bar
If you have any Apple device, you know this place.
Talk about throwback.
A place you can go to in person.
Talk to a human.
Who sprinkles their magic fairy dust on your device,
And poof, it is all better.
Only this time it wasn’t.
There was a good chance my old hard drive itself is physically damaged.
The only answer might be,
Cue the ominous music,
Professional data recovery.
That’s like checking my hard drive into the most expensive hospital ICU.
Without health insurance.
The bill could end up being more than the actual new laptop.
Whisper Of Hope
“I actually do data retrieval on the side,” my Genius tech mumbled under his breath. “Only I’m not allowed to offer that to you.”
I scribbled my name and number on a piece of paper.
“Just in case you decide you can help,” I said quietly.
“I just gave my cell phone number to the guy at Genius Bar,” I shared with Husband when I got home.
“I love it,” said the man who has yet to meet a penny that isn’t shinier once it’s pinched.
Like a flashback to my single days, the guy from the bar has yet to call.
I’m keeping the faith, believing my photos are on that hard drive somewhere.
That I’ll find a solution.
I look at it longingly like a entombed photo album.
“You’re in there,” I promise. “Mama’s coming for you.”
How about you hold good space for me, Dear Reader?
That my thousands of photos and I will soon be reunited.
And I’ll hold space for you,
For the mess you’re trying to clean up this week.
For I know there is one,
It’s how we roll.
Backing each other up along the way.
And if you enjoy this column you might enjoy my book,