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iPhone 6

iPhone 6

I am not a conspiracy theorist. I’m a skeptic.The problem is conspiracies not only abound, but are proliferating. It’s obvious the CIA wanted to get rid of Tupac. And that strange floating eye on the dollar bill clearly represents something sinister. A secret so powerful and destructive to all of humanity, protected and passed down through the ages by the Priory of Scion, the Knights of Templar, and The Little Rascals.

No, I am not immune to conspiracy theories, and from time to time I fall victim. I don’t wish to create mass hysteria, but right now hundreds of thousands of us have fallen pray to a fiendish corporate plot.

old cell phones

I’m calling it the “Poison Apple” conspiracy. Apple Computer is sabotaging all prior versions of the iPhone. They are lashing out at those of us who did not upgrade immediately to their new folding phone. Much has been made about the iPhone 6.0 and its glitches. But nobody is talking about a systemic and diabolical plot against slow adopters. Some of us had better things to do than stand in line all night for the iPhone 6, as if Van Halen reunited, and David Lee Roth found his marbles.

I’m talking about those of us still hanging on to obsolete iPhone 4’s and 5’s. If you fall into the late adopter camp, I’m willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that you are experiencing one or more of the following issues:

  • Voicemail constantly repopulating deleted voicemails from the last three months, than declaring your voicemail full.
  • Your entire contacts list mysteriously disappearing.
  • No Internet access.
  • You can receive texts, but replies are undelivered; a particularly torturous form of existential Hell.
Oompa Loompas now working for Apple Computer

Oompa Loompas now working for Apple Computer

I imagine a secret room in the bowels of Apple headquarters in Cupertino, where a team of Oompa Loompas work day and night hacking into old versions of the iPhone and wreaking havoc.  Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory went broke after that blasphemous remake of the original classic. I can’t really blame the Oompas, lured by stock options and the promise that some of their Apple colleagues sport the same green hair. Finally, they fit in.

“Oompa, Oompa, oompa de do..If you don’t upgrade, we’ll cause trouble for you…” I can hear them singing that hauntingly ominous melody.

Well I’m here to say, that I’m not going to take it Apple! Don’t be such an Apple! (Thanks Annoying Orange.) I’m blowing the whistle. And just to show you I mean business, I’m waiting to upgrade until the next version of iPhone 6.0 arrives, and you’ve worked out the bugs.

I have 16,252 messages in my inbox. Just the thought makes most people come unglued. I’ve never felt compelled to clean out my email. In fact, once I left the workforce in the early 2000’s, and was no longer tethered to a desk, and a computer, I took a hiatus from email.

Initially I was in email avoidance. I associated email with the physiological fight-or-flight response of caveman days.  I just couldn’t shake the years of pulsating-vein-popping-up-in-my-forehead; put me in a rubber room kind of stress, generated from my inbox.

work stressI never knew what was lurking. Bombardments of high priority emails from all directions; “You need to commission some market research on the website we are launching on Tuesday. We realize we forgot to do market research and our VP asked about it five minutes ago.  Whatever you do, make sure it backs up the theme, direction and content we have developed.”  Or, “We decided our group should have a presence at the trade show in Atlanta. It’s in four days.  You need to beg the event planners for a space, get our booth together, produce a video (this was the 90’s), and create some genius marketing brochure to distribute. You’re flight arrangements have been made. Hopefully you can find a hotel.

Part of my initial reticence about personal email, was that it lacked the code of conduct embraced by companies.  Before personal email was commonplace, it wasn’t unusual to end up on an endless string of “reply all” single word responses (“yes” or “no”).  These could go on for weeks. There were also the people that used email for formal letter writing, with many paragraphs of superfluous banter.

The classic was the email “chain letter”. You remember those don’t you? “Please fill out this email questionnaire with only the most positive (yet truthful) answers, and forward to twenty people. If you do, you will have good luck, spirituality, good karma, and designer clothes for the rest of your life. If you break the chain, bad luck will befall you. You might lose your job, and home, contract leprosy, and get run over at a freeway onramp while you are begging for dollars.”

Eventually I recovered from PTSD from my work life. My inbox no longer expelled menacing, stressful messages. It became indispensable.  Once I got an iPhone, it was easier to manage, although I much prefer the brevity of text.  So why do I still have 16k emails in my inbox? When it comes down to it, I’m a digital hoarder…

1960's vintage black pumps

I admit, I had no idea what “DIY” meant.  I had to ask a friend.  My friend laughed at me and said, “of course you don’t know what ‘do it yourself’ means”.  She may be right, but when it comes to fashion, I’m a Molly Ringwald from Pretty In Pink at heart.  Way back in my high school days, before Seattle’s beloved Macklemore made it cool, I was scouring thrift stores.  My favorite haunt, while growing up in Portland, was the Red, White and Blue Thrift Store.  My sister and I would sift through endless racks of foul-smelling clothing for the perfect long black coat, a Hamburg hat, or a pair of black pointy stilettos that would complete our preppy/punk/new wave image we tried desperately to cultivate.

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I would never buy it, but I have been the lucky recipient of fabulous furs from my mother-in-law. I wear it with pride and have been surprised by the warm reception fur receives in the progressive town of Seattle. Just in case someone wants to throw Heinz Ketchup on me, I always carry a bag of hemoglobin, so I can fire back.  The only fur I’ve actually purchased was at a yard sale on Capitol Hill.  This crazy white rabbit fur caught my eye amongst the racks of dirty bathrobes and house coats.  I made my boyfriend (now husband) stop so I could throw down $2 on a white rabbit fur coat, complete with Michael Jackson shoulder wings.  I’m horribly allergic to it, so I load up on Benadryl when I bust it out.  What a statement that bunny makes!

© 2017 Napadaisical
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