My Technological Transgression

I remember lecturing my children, as my own father did me, about how important it is to be consistent in their habits. "You can use that tool," Dad would tell me, "but only if you put it back exactly where you found it." Hmm... my kids will laugh at this, because I'm sure they have heard it many times spoken by their own dear ol' Papa. Now I'm embarrassed because I lost my phone. Or, my subconscious wants to believe, someone stole it.

Something else I learned early in the computer era: back up your data. Once upon a long ago time, I worked for a software company which produces and supports accounting software. Many of my calls would involve an enraged customer blaming us for not being able to access their data after a computer crash.

"When was your most recent back up?" I would ask, wincing at the expected reply.

"Whaddya mean," they would holler, "I thought you guys did that automatically from some secret location! I don't know shinola about no back up, except my back side is fired if I can't get this report out in 10 minutes!"

Then I would have to patiently explain that if there was nothing backed up, there was no accessing the information. It was gone... POOF! Into a cloud that did not yet exist, into the server of infinite nevermore. My ears would burn for hours after some calls, and my fellow reps would gather at our smoke break to exchange nightmare stories. People whose entire business financial records were entered into our software, never backed up, becoming part of history. I cannot even begin to imagine recovering from such a nightmare. Perhaps this software does automatically back up data for its customers. I'm sure the idea was conceived after they played back many of those early support calls.

Fast forward 22 years, with all the clouds and terabyte storage available... on a telephone. Back then, a megabyte was impressive. Now it's an amusing anecdote to a simpler time. So is my memory. In addition to my senior moments, I have always had the tendency to procrastinate. This time, it cost me dearly. All the photos taken from my iPhone of a wonderful vacation... gone.

My last version of "the iPhone" (or what I now refer to as "the iPhuckedUp") was either misplaced as I left my last break one night, or was stolen out of the overhead bin on my bus. Foolish me, I am a trusting soul who tends to rely on basic decency and a sense of honor from my less-than-adorable customer base. Who would steal from the guy who works so hard to give his passengers a smooth and safe ride every day? Anybody desperate enough to do so with several cameras watching, evidently.

The only other scenario, as I said, is that I didn't put it in the overhead bin behind the operator's seat. Perhaps I left it on the wheel well (again), and a passenger just picked it up, muttering "finders keepers" while I concentrated on the road ahead. Either way, I have been phoneless for three days. As I write, my new device is being restored from a backup dated September 2, 2019. It's enough to make me sick, but I'm out of leave thanks to that bout of flu I suffered through last month.

Early in this blog's life, I would rant and rave about people and their phones. Sometimes, I still do. That's a bit hypocritical of me, since I've grown just as attached to mine as anyone else is today. What once hung on the wall (still does, in the smarter households who refuse to be assimilated into today's Borg culture), which could be ignored when it rang and our favorite TV show or the radio blared, or instead maybe an intriguing book was just getting to the good part. Today, virtually every aspect of our lives is stored on a handheld device more powerful than the computers which sent the first men to the moon in the 1960s. The mega-thick James Michener or Charles Dickens novels I once devoured can now claim only the tiniest slice of space on today's electronic readers. To me, turning pages is much more rewarding than depending on a gadget. I prefer the feel of murdered trees in my hands. (Apologies to our leafy victims.)

The good part about this, as a balanced scale is vital to this Libra, is that I finally began reading a book I picked up while on vacation. A slim volume, it describes the life of a farm boy in the early part of the last century. Since it's not far removed from my late father's similar childhood, I'm finding it fascinating to discover what life was like prior to today's modern "improvements in cellular technology." Sounds positively biological. However, I refuse to treat my device as a living being even as it scolds me for attention like a scorned lover any time I have a free moment.

Now that I have successfully existed three full days without it, I may restructure my breaks to involve more reading of... books. Yeah, those antiquities made of paper, which give the most wonderful whispery sound as its pages turn. Reading about a young farm boy's exploits is fascinating compared to catching up on the latest political rants, or who is "trending" on YouTube, or what FaceBook considers "inappropriate for community standards."

My book has an aroma that can only be described as enticing as standing in a nonagenarian's musty library. Heavenly. Its worn, plain green cover gives no hint of the treasures which lay within. But now I know, upon holding it reverently in my steering wheel- and cell-abused hands, that a mystical world of yesteryear awaits whenever I thumb to the bookmark beckoning from its vellum pages.

If I'm lucky, some lad in a similar working-class job 80 years from now may hold my book in his or her hands, a relic found in some antique store. The gas station where I buy my lotto tickets and the fast-food joints near my layover will likely be long-gone. Hopefully, the trees will remain, with perhaps several more to keep the old fellas company. I have a strong affinity for naturally-growing beings. If humans aren't replaced by this technological explosion we constantly endure today, a writer's main hope is to have their words outlast their mortal remains.

Meanwhile, I propose to keep a tighter leash on my electronic tether. SOPs be damned. It's been hell getting the new device to mesh with my 60-day-old backup. Sometimes I wish I had been born 100 years earlier.