It’s only a minor setback.
It’s not a sign or an omen.
But it sure is ugly, and the way it looks pretty accurately depicts how I felt inside when it happened.
We’re talking about a broken iPad screen. And I’ve been whining about it all day. I never understood how people go around with cracks in their cellphones. How careless must one be? How rough? As accident prone as I am, as many times as my phone has slipped through my fingers and seemingly bounced off the ground, never in the 16 years of my personal cell phone era have I broken my trusty sidekick, and never since I converted to a smartphone circa 2009 have I even scratched my screen- the window to my world. Until today.
Picture me standing in the office corridor, after the daily 7:15am meeting. All dolled up for lunch with an important client- I had even swapped my commuting Uggs for my patent leather pumps. One moment ago I was walking jovially with a senior colleague, deep in dialogue about stocks and earnings, and the next, I’m stricken with panic at the terrible noise my iPad made as it hit the coffee-stained tile floor. NO. Not me. Not now.
How did this happen? Ironically, I was simply trying to fit in. Be one of the guys. Not be a b*tch. As we were returning to our desks, throngs of salespeople were filing downstairs for the next meeting. One guy- a deep voiced, smooth talking veteran- made eye contact and just like any cliched story about someone with his borderline flirtatious persona would dictate, he aimed his fist at me for a “bump” as he passed. Never one to leave someone hanging, I reached out in effort to connect, but my body remained in motion, and as we already know, I am not the most coordinated person out there. So I missed.
Going through the motions wasn’t enough. He couldn’t be denied. He insisted I make it right. He even threw the word “karma” at me as if a threat of what could happen if I didn’t engage in this collegial locker room behavior. And how rude of me really to not stop and go out of my way to practically clothesline the man walking to my left so I could execute this interaction. In my best Olympic gymnast mode, I twisted my torso and reached back with a fist of fury to reach and placate my expectant coworker. As I did so, my iPad went sliding off my 5 subject college ruled notebook and into that spectacular crash heard round the trading floor.
I couldn’t look. I just knew it couldn’t have survived the impact. The anger was already welling up inside me. I never take it into my meeting, why today? I used to have a great shock proof case, but this blog inspired me to buy one of those nifty attached keyboards to facilitate typing on the train. (This is thecommutary, after all.) It was too much to bear.
Shattered, it’s shattered. It hurts to look at it. It literally hurts to touch it because the shards and splintered glass are like pixie dust strewn across its surface. It made me want to give up. On all of this. I could’ve run to the Apple Store to fix it but I can get the job done for half the price near home. He offered half heartedly to pay for it, but let’s just say there will be NO more fist bumps in the office, like ever.
So I’m sitting in my three seater, trying not to look, hoping I don’t have too many glaring spelling errors. But I can’t let the broken screen deter me from posting. I can’t let the evil oppressor win.
You can break my spirit, you can break my iPad, but the blog must go on.