I’ve been using a PDA since before they were hip. Think Casio. Think Casio with a flip top and a screen the size of postage stamp. That dinosaur predated rechargeable batteries. Which means I had a panic attack every time I had to swap out the AAA’s. Because, my friends, my Casio PDA also predated backing up and syncing. Then the world was introduced to the lovely invention of Palm Pilots.
Over the course of time, I had three different Palms. Okay, technically four. I drove over my third one which cracked the screen. I had to replace it. Or, I didn’t have to replace it because it did still work but it worked in a limited capacity. A slice of the screen was perpetually black. So while I was able to confirm I had an appointment at two in the afternoon on Wednesday, I couldn’t see who I was meeting with. Or while I could see the name and number of my call list, the middle three digits was a void. And so I bit the bullet and bought my fourth Palm, a used, Verizon compatible, Treo 650.
That Treo did me good. For the first time ever, I was down to one electronic contraption. No longer did I have to pass on my chic clutches because there was never enough space for both my PDA and my phone. Nope, now that I had condensed my life, I could use cuter purses. And, I could text message without having to visit the Greek alphabet. Life was good. Life was very good. Then my Treo started to freeze up.
“Listen,” I announced as I plopped down in the chair by my dad’s desk. “Our contract is finally up with Verizon and since, for some unknown reason, I’m the primary on the account, I need to go renew it.”
“And we all get new phones,” I said with a sigh.
“What do you think about the iPhone?”
“I think you wouldn’t know what it was if it hit you in the head.”
My dad offered a guilty giggle.
“Right,” I responded. “I’m going to run up to take care of things and once I do that, you and mom can get new phones. Actually, I’ll call her now and give her a heads up.”
I moseyed back to my desk and rang my mom. I gave her the spiel about have to wait until I did everything and then I broke the exciting news that she could finally replace the junk she’s been complaining about.
“What do you think about the iPhone?” my mom asked.
“You don’t even know how to text message.”
“But I’d like to,” she countered.
“Right, master that first and then we can talk about the iPhone. Plus, we have Verizon. It’s only legit with AT&T. And the only carrier that gets solid service on Longboat is Verizon. So there.”
“You’re no fun.”
An hour or so later, I grabbed my wallet, keys and Treo and headed up to the Verizon store. There I perused the PDA options and after much consideration, and by consideration I mean button pushing, I resolved to get the Blackberry Curve. It has everything I need plus a bevy of things I’ll never use. As a Jew, this is a good thing. It means I got a great deal.
When I returned to the office, I tossed my Blackberry on my desk and got back to work. Then, as the clock ticked near six and the cubicles emptied out, I started playing with it. I tried to set the ringtones, although after twenty minutes of scrolling and internet searching and handbook consulting, I gave up. Then I attempted to adjust the view. And upload my work email. And since I failed with those efforts I tried one last time to set the ringtones. I stalled out at vibrate.
“How do you like your Blackberry?” my dad asked the next morning as he nodded at the brick in my hand.
“I feel like mom – is this thing on?” I said in a mimicking voice as I held the Blackberry to my ear, the contraption upside down and the battery plate pressed to my head. “If I can’t master it by the end of the week, it’s going back.”
That night, I met up with my twenty-something cousin Erika to volunteer. Seated in neighboring arm chairs that creaked with the slightest breath, I saw her fuddle with her phone, her Blackberry Curve phone to be exact. My face lit up. My eyes widened with excitement.
“Here!” I exclaimed as I dropped mine in her lap. “I’m desperate.”
And in between checking in families and answering the phones, buzzing in guests and putting away files, Erika adjusted my settings. Every last one. Well, save for the work email configuration. Somehow I had managed to do that the day before. Just don’t ask me how.
It’s been only twelve hours since Erika worked her magic. Yes, magic. If that girl ever needs a kidney, I’m her go to gal. Anyway, it’s official; I’m in love.