The Bother with Boxes

            I have a new laptop. It’s blue. Thinner than my old one. Lighter than my old one. Has about the same storage as my old one and is a little faster than my old one. Or is supposed to be-- especially since it isn’t loaded down like my old one... yet. I say “supposed to be” because I haven’t used it... yet. Which means, yes, I am on my old one.

            “Why?” you may ask. That’s fine-- my man is asking the same thing. Every evening. For a week. “Have you used your new laptop, yet?” No. “Are you ever going to?” Yes. The question is a legitimate one, though, as it’s been in the house for over a week now. Yesterday, the questions changed, but the answers stayed the same.

            “Have you opened your new laptop, yet?” No. “Are you ever going to actually use it?” Yes. Those are all easy questions to answer. The one I am dreading is “Why haven’t you even opened the box?” Not easy to answer, as it means admitting that I am intimidated by a box.

            The box is nothing special-- brown cardboard, thick and heavy like you’d want a new laptop to be shipped in. Sturdy. With an easy peel-to-open strip right down the middle of the top. Not at all intimidating. But when I open it, there the new laptop shall be. In view. Waiting.

            So, okay-- I’m not intimidated by the box. I’m intimidated by what’s in the box. No, maybe not even that. The laptop doesn’t bother me-- in fact, it will be pretty and shiny new, unscratched, un-bumped (although it will lack my collection of stickers which decorate my old one). It’s the Setting Up that gets me. I’ve touched on my issues with tech in previous bits of writing. For those of you who don’t know, all things technological see me coming.

            A month ago, I was sitting in a coffee shop writing when my battery began to beep its “I’m running low” warning. I pulled out the charge cord, plugged it in and... nothing. I unplugged it and plugged it back in. Nada. Fiddled with the connector. Nope. My friend and occasional co-conspirator was there with me and she unplugged, re-plugged and fiddled, too. Not even her savvy touch could make it charge. I hurridly saved everything and dropped the lid with 3% showing on the screen. My friend smiled compassionately. “I think it’s the cord.”

            So, in the midst of getting ready for two weeks of camp (my daughter) and three weeks up in the panhandle, I ran to Best Buy. The Tech Guy (anyone who can capably handle tech issues deserves capital letters) plugged my laptop in with the store’s cord and, thankfully, it was indeed the charger. So, I asked if they sold them. “Oh, no, nothing that old. The only place you’ll get one of those is online. Try Amazon.” Thanks.

            The charger model was too old for even Amazon. None for sale anywhere on FB Marketplace. The only one I could find was a single, very worn-looking example on Ebay-- but it was supposed to work. I paid for it and had it shipped to my mom’s. Arrival date between 30 June and 13 July. Two weeks.

            With a thousand and one things to do-- almost all needing my computer-- the wait seemed endless. I ran around in Amarillo, hoping, but the Best Buy there didn’t even have one of their own to use on my laptop, so my idea of charming a ‘loan’ from them flew out the window. Success came with a call to a repair shop, who had an adapter that would work, so I raced over only to have the young Authorized Tech Guy take one look at my dear friend and say, “Oh. I didn’t think it would be that old.” Hurt feelings of inferiority aside, they did have a cord in the repair area that would work, so I left my laptop for “a charge and a cleaning”. When I returned, my baby was fully up and ready, but the young man looked at me gravely and imparted the following message: “That laptop is really old. Its hard drive is deteriorating. You really should begin shopping around for a new one.”

            I glumly shared the terminal diagnosis (ha! Get it?) and my man and I began looking online. Independence Day specials threw us a lifeline and it only took six phone calls to get a new computer on its way... to College Station. Meanwhile, the Ebay charger arrived (cue the angels’ singing) -- ugly but operational-- and I could get to work.

            When I arrived home last week, my old (but well-cared-for) charger was sitting on my desk. I looked at the new (ugly-but-working) one and wondered... I know, I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. I plugged the original back in and saw a blue flash as the electricity popped. I waited a few seconds, saw no more sparks or signs of impending disaster, and then connected my laptop. It. Worked.

            I didn’t tell my man. Not after the ripping conversations he’d had with the salespeople who’d had such difficulty processing the order for my new laptop. To make sure I get the most for my money, I use the ‘old’ charger during the day and the ‘new’ one at night, just to avoid any fires. (I didn’t tell my man about those blue sparks, either.)

            The new laptop arrived in a bungled outer box, but the middle box is as described-- just fine and likely easy to open. Even though the new model is pretty much like the old one, I know what a hassle it’s going to be. More than just transferring files and re-downloadings, there will be tech issues. I know there will be. They wait for me. Like a cougar on a big branch above, they watch and listen and crouch, ready to spring at just the right moment. And it’s always me. I can prove it...

            Two weeks ago, up in the panhandle, I was getting ready to take my daughter by my mother-in-law’s place in the country. She mentioned chiggers. Chiggers love me. And, worse, they would love my Labrador. So, after leaving my mom’s, we chased all over Amarillo, trying to find the repellent I’d read about online. Finally found it, at Gebo’s (pronounced ‘gee-bows’, for any non-Texans out there). I wandered around for a minute, reading labels, until I located the right spray. Triumphantly, I approached the checkout, where another lady was picking up her sack to leave. I placed the big ol’ bottle on the counter, handed the salesgirl my credit card, and the computer crashed. She couldn’t get it re-started. We moved to the second computer and-- yep-- it crashed. She couldn’t get it restarted. Had to have someone from the back come out and re-set the entire system. The salesgirl apologised profusely for the delay, didn’t understand why they’d both gone down. I shrugged and told her, with all seriousness, that it was because of me. I don’t think she quite understood that I meant it. Eventually, I made it back out to the truck where my youngest and the dog were waiting. When my girl asked what had taken so long, I said, “the registers crashed.” Her reply? “Figures.”

Sidenote:

After writing this little tale, I mustered up the courage and opened the box-- and, yes, it opened just as easily as I’d imagined. Inside?

 Another box. Ah, well, it’s progress. Just sayin'...