I've been whining and complaining about the kitchen project for so long I'm feeling a bit disoriented and lacking focus now that Henry is finally wrapping up the punch list. The new porch door no longer leaks, the bathroom door has been replaced, the tile is finished and all the painting is done.
Yes, there are a few punch list items that still need attention, but once the glass shelves are in place, that's about it until the next thing...
So for now I am done with construction. It's been a long haul. By the time the last item is done it will have taken over 5 months - Henry's promise of 6-8 weeks notwithstanding. Not that the work was so much more than estimated. No, it is rather due to the supreme frustration of workus interruptus. Like sex without the payoff this project went on and on and on, raising my hopes and dashing them, promising glory and and delivering frustration.
BUT, now that it's done, what will I complain about? Wait. I know. My iPhone!!
Yes, I bought an iPhone a couple months ago and I must say I am generally delighted with it. It is so very easy to use, so very clever, so easy to love. And that is the problem. I've wrapped my whole crazy life around this tiny device. It holds my calendar, email, phone book, photos, my little collection of OCD-pleasing games, all my music, my Jeff Buckley radio station, my Eric Watson radio station. Yes, everything. All my connections to the world around and the world within.
So imagine my chagrin when, after 6 weeks of blissful seduction, after it has lured me into its web of complete dependency, one day I awake to find that its battery won't hold a charge. Charge it up and one hour later it's dead again, whimpering "feed me" like Rick Moranis's crazy plant, Audrey.
Disappointment, panic, rage, the three stages of technology betrayal.
At lunch time I dash to the Apple store at the North Shore Mall. It is located in a corner 6 or 7 miles from the end of the mall where the only remaining parking hasn't been blocked off for construction. I high tail it through the mall like an old OJ Simpson commercial, knowing I only have about 90 minutes for this critical mission. I arrive, panting, at the welcoming entrance (no doors of course) to the Apple store. I am greeted by a young woman with the word "Concierge" embroidered on her preppy little polo shirt and her chipper grin communicating that she would rather die than let me down in this moment.
"Hey, how can I help you today?" she asks, making eye contact for all she's worth.
"My phone battery is dead", I say, "I charged it all night and it was dead by 10AM".
"Oh, BUMMER!" she wails as if I'd told her my dog had died. So far so good. She gets it.
"Come right over here with me and let's see what we can do for you." She leads me to one of 6 flat panel monitors standing as sentinels in the entry way. tap tap tap. Hmmm. tap tap tap. Frown. tap tap tap. "Oh, Gwen... it is Gwen, isn't it? Well, it looks like we won't have a genius available until 1:00. Is that okay?"
A genius? I am SO stupid and so not cool. "Oh, that's okay." I say. "I don't need a genius. All I need is someone who can replace the battery. It's not holding a charge." Poor silly me. There is profound pity in her eyes. She is so sorry for me and my ignorance and cluelessness.
She tries everything she can. She calls the genius concierge who stands guard at the back of the store in the sort of playground area where the geniuses work and the supplicants wait. This concierge is so young and sweet and so very sorry, over and over again he is sorry, but he can't help me and so I make an appointment for Friday at noon and walk toward the front of the store and the exit, having failed in my quest. Along the way I am accosted by at least 3 other concierges who want to know if my visit was great and if I am happy. I am not happy and I try hard with some very limited success not to say slightly mean things to these sweet children, er, concierges.
On Friday I returned, and because I have an appointment with a genius and I am so very cool and knowing and with it, I am able to get my phone fixed - replaced even - in a matter of minutes. Then the genius is happy and the concierge is happy and damn it, I am happy, too. My lovely iPhone works again and now I am so smart and I know just how to be cool in the Apple store. Just took me sixty years.
