With a nail-biter of an election coming up, I thought I’d share a few anecdotes that might offer a little comic relief. Quite frankly, my favorite person to laugh at is myself … my mistakes, my certainty, the vehemence with which I defend convictions I may later reconsider.
I warn you this Blog has a lot of fucks in it. Here goes.
The AirPods
About 2 years ago I bought the highest end AirPods Apple makes. I got Apple Care, as well because … duh.
It’s a good thing I did because not long after the purchase I had to replace a bud. And then another. Then the whole unit. Why? Charging. I had to wiggle the bud around in the case to get a connection. Then hold it in place for 15 minutes before I could go forth into the world. Not ok.
(When I was prompted to name my AirPods, I thought, well, myself. They’re mine.)
Last week, I made yet another “Genius” Bar appointment for yet another failing pod. Genius brought the unit to the back and returned with a diagnosis: the connections were “corroded.” She had receipts – pictures of the inside of my unit.
“How can that be?” I asked.
“They got wet?” she said/asked.
“I would know if I dropped them in a pool. Or a toilet.”
“Do you exercise with them in?”
“Well yeah but…doesn’t everybody?”
“Sorry, corrosion isn’t covered under Apple Care.”
I demanded the Genius call over a Super Genius.
Super Genius concurred.
“Apple has never charged me for replacements before,” I protested.
“If it was corrosion, I don’t know why they didn’t,” said Super Genius.
He wouldn’t budge. And I didn’t want him to charge me retroactively for the times they didn’t charge me.
So I paid the god damn $29 for a replacement unit (w/o Apple Care it would have been more). Life is short. I just wanted to get back to it.
When I left the store, I was sure I was scammed. Those photos could have been from any phone. Fucking Geniuses. I take such good care of my AirPods. In fact, a few months ago I even asked Chat how best to clean them. I did exactly what Chat said. I dipped a Q-tip into mineral oil and swirled it around inside the case and on the charging ends of the pods.
I stopped walking. 😳 Mineral oil is wet.
I considered going back to the Apple Store and apologizing for my ire. But I was too embarrassed.
*****
The Keys
A couple of years ago I put my keys on top of my car while I loaded in my guitar before driving out to the Durango Music Festival in Ventura. I was frazzled that morning. It was pouring. I was late. Yada yada.
When I got to Ventura a message appeared on my dash when I cut the engine: “Key Not Found.” Fuck! Sadly, I had left my keys on the roof of my car before I drove off in the rain. I wouldn’t be able to start the car later and get home! More important, where were my keys?
Luckily, someone from my neighborhood was coming to the event. She picked up the extra set from my hubby and brought them with her. Phew. But I learned my lesson. Or so I thought: I’d never, ever, ever put my keys on top of my car again. For any reason. No matter what.
Last week, I put my keys on top of the car. I even said to myself: “Shelly!!! Don’t.” But there was something in my rebellious nature that wanted to challenge my mindfulness.
Then I drove into the valley to do errands. I parked the car and touched the handle on the door to lock it (which one can do with a keyless-go if the remote is within a foot of the car). It didn’t lock. There was no message on my dash saying key not found so the keys had to be inside the car.
They weren’t in my cup-holder. Or on the floor. They couldn’t be in the trunk because the trunk won’t close if the keys are inside it. I shined my iPhone flashlight under the seats. Not there. I emptied my purse. Crumbs. Receipts. Wrappers. No keys. Where the fuck?
I stood in the middle of the street, hands on hips, perplexed. I summoned my inner Sherlock. Then, I felt myself drawn to the front of the car, specifically the grill below the windshield. And there, buried in a cluster of leaves, were my keys. They must had slipped off the roof into that crevice somewhere along my route to the valley. And stayed there the whole way. A miracle.
Why the Universe gave me grace, when I knew better, I’ll never know.
But I swear I’ll never, ever, ever put my keys on the roof again.
*****
The Elderly
Adam and I walked into Best Buy to purchase a new TV. A young man standing by the entrance asked us which department we were heading to. “TVs,” Adam said.
He then he spoke softly into his headset. “Elderly couple on their way back.” I looked around. I didn’t see anybody else. So I said to the young man,
“Excuse me. Are we the elderly couple?” He was startled. “Do we look elderly to you?”
“Well we’re supposed to let the department know … blah blah blah.”
My response was something to the effect of, “You’re a fucking idiot.”
I know, I know. I’m a bitch I’m a lover. I’m all the things. Maybe my reaction was harsh. He might be a lovely young human who just wasn’t thinking. But I’m sorry. What about common sense? Don’t young humans have that anymore?
Admittedly, the dictionary defines elderly as someone over 65 but fuck the dictionary. Elderly is a state of mind. And body. You’re elderly (and that’s not an insult) when you can’t manage on your own anymore.
I relayed this story to my cousin Andrew (same age as me) who argued that I needed to stop resisting getting older. That might be, but it’s beside the point. Why distinguish a customer by their age? Couldn’t his job training have offered more neutral ways of announcing potential buyers? Would it have been ok if that young human had said, “White people coming back,” “Asian couple,” “Short people on their way”? Even if it were true? I don’t think so.
“Two people on their way,” would’ve been sufficient.
“Get ready for the woman in red sweater, man in baseball cap,” assuming that’s what our pronouns were. And how could he have known? (I’m just kidding. I’m not that woke.)
Big sigh.
I realize a 20-something may think anyone over 40 is elderly. I did, when I was 20. I’m sure the kid meant no harm. He’s was just young. Maybe when he’s elderly, he’ll know better. 🤓
Do we look elderly to you?
*****
Don’t forget to VOTE!
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