Rise of My Machines

This is the February print edition of After the Bubbly for Peekaboo magazine. If you would like to see this or any other essays in your local family publication, let me know!

We are dependent on machines: hair dryer, coffee pot, television, thermostat, washer, dryer, Toyota, microwave. Too many to list, right? And sometimes—like after my family watches The Matrix for the 412^th time—I wonder if we’re not getting a little too used to the electrical and mechanical conveniences, if we’re not getting just a little too soft. On a recent morning when the dishwasher wouldn’t start and my phone froze, I didn’t realize it was just the beginning.

After working for two hours, my computer angrily displayed the message that I had better switch over to real power before my battery died. Afraid to lose any portion of the Important Masterpiece I had been writing, I immediately checked everything—the plug that goes into the computer, the black box it feeds into, and the wall socket. All plugged in. My machine died. I switched outlets. Nothing. Over and over I powered up and the computer shut back into hibernation—trying, I assume, to save what little juice was left in its battery. Finally, it made a high pitched wheezing sound and then gave up humoring me completely.

I’m dead already!

The black screen stared at me. The blinky-blinky orange light on the power button disappeared. I inspected the cord and found it was broken, possibly mistaken for a rawhide by the dog I feed and bathe and medicate. (Not cool, Simon, not cool.) When I whined to my husband that I was on my way to Best Buy for a new power cord, he told me we had a universal cord in the desk drawer. When you hear that–universal–it sounds like something even a technophobe writer could figure out, right?

Right.

The universal cord had several tips to choose from and too many pieces to fit together. I eventually figured it out, but even fully assembled, the master of all power sources wouldn’t turn my computer on. Again, I checked all the holes and connections that could be amiss. All were in order so I gave up on the omnipotent power cord and took everything to Best Buy where two guys younger than my Compac told me I needed a new cord. Perhaps I would like the $149 model. (Not that they’re on commission or anything.)

In desperation I visited the Geek Squad desk. I was outrageously lucky to get a wildly talented geek. She listened to my story and offered a few tricks. While she spoke–and without breaking eye contact–she gently turned my computer over, effortlessly located the battery release, moved the battery slightly, and closed the compartment. So elegant and completely without ego. She sent me on my way.

At home, the tones of the power up sequence melted my shoulder tension and let me know that I would live to log in another day. All it took was a loving touch.

Maybe the machines aren’t so different from us after all.

Lela Davidson’s award-winning column, After the Bubbly, appears regularly in Peekaboo magazine, and periodically in other magazines throughout the country. She is the parenting columnist on HubPages.com and a regular contributor to ParentingSquad.com. She loves ALL her machines and tries to treat them nicely. Find out more on her wildly entertaining blog, www.afterthebubbly.com. Or just Google her. She loves to be Googled.

Rise of My Machine

I am dependent on machines. Hair dryer, coffee pot, television, thermostat, washer, dryer, Toyota, microwave. You get it. 

This morning the dishwasher wouldn’t start and the phone froze. It was just the beginning.

After working for two hours, my computer angrily displayed the message that I had better switch over to real power before my battery died and I lost whatever bits of drivel I’d written. I checked the plug that goes into the computer, the black box it feeds into, and the wall socket. All plugged in. I switched outlets. Nothing. Over and over I powered up and the computer shut back into hibernation – trying, I assume, to save what little juice was left in its battery.

It made high pitched wheezing sound and then gave up humoring me completely. I’m dead already! The black screen stared at me. The blinky-blinky orange light on the power button disappeared.

I inspected the cord and found it was broken, possibly mistaken for a rawhide by the dog I feed and bathe and medicate. Not cool, Simon, not cool.

When I whined to my husband that I was on my way to Best Buy for a new power cord, he told me we had a universal cord in the desk drawer. When you hear that–universal–it sounds like something even a writer could figure out, right?

Wrong.

It had all these tips and different pieces to fit together. I figured it out, but even fully assembled, the master of all power sources wouldn’t turn my computer on.

Again, I checked all the holes and connections that could be amiss. All was in order so I gave up on the universal power cord and took everything to Best Buy where two guys younger than my Compac told me I was basically screwed and needed a new cord. Perhaps I would like the $149 model. Not that they’re on commission or anything.

In desperation I visited the Geek Squad desk. Miracle of miracles, I got a girl geek who listened to my story and offered a few tricks. While she spoke–and without breaking eye contact–she gently turned my computer over, effortlessly located the battery release, moved the battery slightly, and closed the compartment.

At home, the tones of the power up sequence melted my shoulder tension and let me know that I would live to log in another day. All it took was a loving touch.

Maybe the machines aren’t so different from us after all.