Of technology & total panic

If I was being waterboarded, I couldn't tell you what the iCloud is. That said, I now know it exists and it wears a cape.

We had a death in the family this weekend.

Note: The Weed told me I have to stop saying that because as he explains: ‘It confuses people and you wear black all the time! It’s like there’s a death in the family every day!’

However, dear reader, there is no other appropriate way to start this post. So, I reiterate: We had a death in the family this weekend. Saturday night to be exact.

My beloved iPhoneX, in a most out-of-character fashion, jumped from the pocket of my sweatshirt as I was putting a glass in the dishwasher. It fell to the floor and sustained what I would diagnose as a completely FUBAR injury.

The iPhoneX was left displaying a green flashing home screen and intermittently sounding siren noises.

As I showed The Weed my fractured phone, hoping his rocket scientist ways could save it—He or I. I maintain He.—called 9-1-1.

Fortunately, when the operator answered: ‘9-1-1. What’s your emergency?’

The Weed had the presence of mind to respond: ‘Uhh … Can’t get the phone to shut off.’

To which the 9-1-1 operator responded: ‘Oh. Thank you.’ and promptly disconnected from us like answering calls from people needing police or medical assistance and those suffering complete technological ineptitude are all aligned with her pay grade.  

After this brief interaction with law enforcement, we decided it was best to simply turn off and charge the mortally wounded iPhoneX overnight.

We then went to bed expecting the Boulder Police Department to surround the house at any time and wake us with shouted demands from a bullhorn or a battering ram breaching the garage door. Luckily, that never happened.

Upon waking the next morning, I discovered a small miracle because my iPhoneX promptly turned on when I toggled the switch and showed a fractured but mostly working home screen.

So, I did a little victory dance and started coming to terms with carrying around a FUBAR’d iPhone. Then, instead of plugging in the phone and backing it up to ensure all of my information was secure, I decided to send memes to my friends and play Wordle. Do you see the critical lapse in judgement at play here?

Just as I finished conquering Wordle, my iPhoneX started metaphorically staggering and displaying the flashing green screen like the night before.

‘Fuck!’ I muttered as I ran down the hall to plug in and back up the iPhoneX flatlinging at my fingertips.

For about an hour, I sat watching my phone now connected to iTunes on the desktop computer spinning and spinning, refusing to be acknowledged or play ball in any way to be fully backed up.

I was terrified. The thought of losing all of my contacts, including one simply labeled ‘Edwin’ (I have no Earthly idea who ‘Edwin’ is), was killing me.

To comfort myself, I contacted a couple of friends through social media (on the desktop) and explained I likely had killed my iPhoneX and would need their information again.

My friend, Chalan, responded: ‘Oh shit.’ And, in Barb’s case, she said: ‘My Android lets me save contacts to a SIM card. Just sayin.’ Thank you, Barbara. Not helpful in a time of crisis!

Eventually, The Weed wandered in and asked: ‘Any luck?’

I shook my head and replied: ‘I don’t know.’

So, we gathered my flatlining phone and drove to the nearby cellular services store to upgrade our phones like we’ve been threatening to do for the past three years.

At the store, the clerk, Erik, greeted us: ‘How are you today?’

I responded: ‘Not great. There’s been a death in the family.’

The Weed was unamused. Erik was confused.

Skipping ahead through the paperwork and contractual obligations, we eventually walked away with two new iPhone16s and the lingering fear that all of my contacts and information were slowly slipping from my grasp.

At home, I started the process of updating the new phone by holding my sputtering iPhoneX beside it. Although it took a few tries, the new phone eventually came to life with all of my contacts, including ‘Edwin,’ and even the 3-year-old text messages from my father that I haven’t had the heart to delete.

I then started to realize: ‘I have no idea what the iCloud is but I think it just saved my ass.’

You see, many educated people have tried to explain to me what the iCloud is. They can not. Much like the notion of escrow, I just don’t get it. So, the iCloud remains a, well, cloudy concept to me.

After checking and double checking that all of my contacts and dog photos dated back to 2010 were secure on the new phone, I offered a silent thanks to the iCloud and shared with The Weed: ‘OK. Hear me out. No one knows what the iCloud is but I know the iCloud is out there, and it wears a cape!’

Long story short: RIP: iPhoneX. Muchas gracias, iCloud … You heroic anomaly!