So I am sitting in a Panera’s in Wilmington, NC, wondering where the heck I’ve left my iPhone. . . .
That sucker was supposed to organize my life and glide me into the 21st century. So far, my relationship with it has been a cartoon, starting with the day we bought it. We’d been going by the Apple store for weeks, but found it so crowded that we didn’t wait around. My Dearly Beloved has a thing about being in a space with too many armpits. Christmas Eve we walked by to check the mayhem and in a high-tech Christmas miracle, someone stepped forward to help us.
The idea was that both of us would get on the same phone plan. DB has been insisting that he didn’t need a new phone, but the Apple guy told him that his phone was so old that it couldn’t be switched to my plan, BUT a new iPhone 4 was free. DB was speechless. He got right up in the guy’s face and asked, “FREE? As in NO money?”
The iPhone that I wanted wasn’t free, so I paid for it so they could set it up for me in the store. DB watched, amazed at how smoothly things were going. That changed quickly, once I was asked to supply my Apple ID password. The one I had in my head wasn’t the one in that great iCloud in the sky. I tried again. No dice.
I had two ways of retrieving it–I could either have it e-mailed to me–which couldn’t happen because I needed the freakin’ password to get into my e-mail in the Apple store. The second option was to answer security questions. You’d think I could handle that, right?
The one that completely stymied me as “What was your favorite job?” I haven’t had that many jobs, so I have no idea how I might have answered that. It depended on my mood at the time, I guess. With a grinning DB sitting beside me, sending photos of me in my predicament to the kids, I was pretty sure I hadn’t answered “wife.”
I knew my first grade teacher’s name, but wasn’t sure how I spelled it. Eventually I locked myself out.
I called Apple tech service, holding my finger in my other ear and screaming over the 100 other voices in the store to see if they could help. Nope. DB continued to snap photos. Until the lockout ended, my fancy new iPhone was only a phone. No internet, no games.
Christmas came, then the grandsons, so I didn’t get around to resetting the password until a couple of days before my birthday. No calls. No texts. My kids called on the house phone and ask why I wasn’t answering my cell. I figured I hadn’t heard it, but it was more than that. DB took my phone over and fiddled with it for a couple of minutes. Ten text messages shook off the dust and popped up for me, as well as a string of missed calls. Sigh.
I haven’t figured out how to add my iPad games to the phone without having to pay for them a second time. We’ve already had the cable connections removed from the beach-house-not-on-the-beach, so my game friends are twiddling their ever-so-agile thumbs, waiting for me to take my turns. I thought I’d get it all figured out at Panera’s. I brought my computer and my iPad along. . . but now I can’t find the darned iPhone. DB called my number, in case it was in the dark recesses of my too-large handbag. Nothing.
Of course not. I remembered that I’d turned off the ringer.