I never thought I’d say the words “school” and “7:30 a.m.” again.
But here I am. In school. At 7:30 a.m. Waiting for someone I interviewed last week. I’ve been harassing her everyday since for photos we would include for her article. Unfortunately, she was too busy (school, orgs, life, you know the drill) to e-mail so we had to meet up, instead. She asked if I could bring my laptop so she could just plug in and transfer everything instead of burning a separate CD. Grateful for the photos I’ve been hunting down for eight days, I said OK.
There’s a problem. I’ve been a handicapped writer since November; my laptop died of me in the middle of an article and I’m too cheap to get another one. Never mind that I won’t settle for anything less than the Mac Air I’ve been drooling on for three months now.
So, in a strange twist of events, not to mention an hour of dire need, I borrowed my mom’s Mini. Problem solved–and she even packed it for me. I walked to school carrying with ease her tiny, white, GMasked laptop. I was a winner!
I forgot to ask her one thing: How the hell do I switch it on? I was stumped. My old laptop was tailormade for writers–giant, keys stretched out wide for easy and frantic typing, large screens for the benefit of our frustrated eyes. But this ridiculously small contraption was half its size and weight with the keys all scrunched up in a cramped space.
I taught my mom how to use the Internet and even to play Spider Solitaire; she has no clue what Adobe or Mozilla is. But I can’t even open her laptop–the one she flips open everyday without so much as a blink to check her Facebook, mail and to play solitaire.
Finally, I found the switch (it’s wasn’t even a button!) somewhere around the perimeter. But not before conspiciously lifting it up, turning it around every side, and flipping it upside down, much to the dismay of the young, computer-savvy students around me. Oh the generation gap.