By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
Oh, the agony of a new computer. We nearly came to blows.
Typically, I embrace change. I feel change is progressive, something to look forward to. That’s all fine and dandy, until my technology or my ride changes. Those changes I absolutely cannot abide by.
Take my beloved Bonita for instance. I have had her 10 years now, and she’s just fine. Mr. Kaminski makes certain she has regular check ups and promptly replaces anything that gets worn out. While I am in charge of most all things in the Kaminski clan, fleet maintenance is not in my wheelhouse.
When it comes time to change my ride, it’s a thing – a really big thing. I do not fancy changing vehicles. In fact, an incident of significant proportion has to occur before I will acquiesce to a swap. My last car, Sterling, had to be retired due to an extremely small fire. Some type of transmission something or other, but it was a tiny, tiny flame – in my defense. And yes, I name my cars. So does Bub.
Fast forward to this monumental change in technology, and I have been at my wit’s end. With me being more mobile these days, I have found my infinitesimal laptop challenging. And no, it has nothing whatsoever to do with my failing eyesight. It’s just not enough real estate for me to function well. I hit things I’m not supposed to with my fingernails, I can only view one email at a time, and when I write, I can see three sentences max. Now I can’t recall what I wrote prior to three sentences back, so you see the rub?
After huffing and puffing and spewing a few choice expletives to my newborn, that precious child of God did me a solid: Kolton ordered me a new laptop complete with all of the bells and whistles that were must-haves on my list and had it delivered post haste to my front porch. That’s the good news. The bad news is I couldn’t even figure out how to turn the dang thing on!
So, I toted the new nemesis with me for a month across three states, and every once in a while, I would try to get acquainted to no avail. Every time I tried to go in, it kept asking me questions, and apparently, I did not know the correct answers to them. So, I did what I normally do: I made up the answers. Let’s just say this contemptuous computer is not at all flexible. I truly don’t appreciate that.
I finally put the dastardly device on the “Broke Shit” list prominently displayed on the refridgerator, which piqued Mr. Kaminski’s curiosity. He’s become accustomed to checking said list routinely, as apparently, I’m strong, very strong, and I tend to break things.
“How is your brand new computer broken?” he posed.
“It’s cantankerous, cruel, and I can’t get it to work. Heck, I can’t even turn it on most days,” I replied, a little teary-eyed for emphasis.
“I’ll take a look at it,” he replied with a hug.
Mr. Kaminski battled the beast for over three hours, and he asked so many questions of me along the way I felt like I was being interrogated. “Find this password, what’s your email for this?” It was quite invasive and oh so unpleasant. Nevertheless, I finally have a new laptop with access to what I need on the daily, and I poured Mr. Kaminski three fingers of some really good Bourbon for having to deal with, well, me.
The lesson: never under estimate the power of a good “Broke Shit” list – and a few tears. See y’all next week – on the porch!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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