Original post on my old blog was 12 January 2014! An informal blog post that described an odd week I had.
This week has been pretty interesting. So interesting that I have to share it as I genuinely feel like this sort of thing only happens to me and I’d like some reassurance!
Firstly, those of you who know me will know I’ve had a hideously shattered iphone screen since last July. Well, new year new me and all that, I decided to finally take my phone to get repaired. I take it to a shop who conduct repairs for cheaper than what apple charge, pay the 30 quid and go back to collect it a few hours later. All is fine until I begin to notice when opening certain apps (definitely not candy crush!), I’m unable to operate it properly (nothing to do with being unable to move the candies). Nightmare. So the next day I take it back. It’s a different guy and I explain what’s happened and I have to leave my phone again for the technician to work his magic. Now the day before I had to write my pass code on a sticky label on my phone, but today the guy says ‘don’t worry I’ll remember’. I really wasn’t sure about this, but not wanting to be rude and figuring not everyone has a rubbish memory like me, I give him the benefit of the doubt and verbally hand over my passcode. When I return to the shop to collect it, memory mastermind informs me that actually, he couldn’t remember it, and due to the passcode being entered incorrectly too many times BY HIM, the phone has now reset itself and is on a countdown timer… Counting down from 123, 489, 523 minutes. Yes, 123 million minutes. So I just need to wait approximately 43 years to use my phone again.
Or I could take it to the apple shop and ask them to reset the timer. So off I go. The apple shop is naturally, heaving. Despite there being 700 staff on shift, I have to join a queue of ‘walk ins’ and wait to speak to the one and only member of staff who can advise about technical issues. I discover that the only way to reset the phone is to restore factory settings meaning I lose all data that’s not been backed up. But it’s OK because I have an iphone, therefore I obviously use icloud. Oh wait. I don’t. So now the annoying weekly pop up notification informing me ‘this iPhone has not been backed up in 79 weeks, please connect to WiFi and do so to avoid losing data’ doesn’t seem so annoying and I really wish I’d have taken notice.
So I’m digesting the fact that everything on my phone since March 2013 will be deleted, and trying not to make my squeals of despair too obvious, when in walks a lady who carries out what I can only describe as a voodoo curse on some poor innocent girl who is equally as confused as I am, and has absolutely no idea how to react. This woman was odd to say the least. I think it was a curse but really it could have just been one of those reality TV programme things where people are filmed creating awkward public situations for a funny reaction. Who knows. But she left as quickly as she came in and the guy serving me continued to look at me expectantly, waiting for my permission to erase all of my beloved content from the last year or so of my life. I was left wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing. So phone gets fixed, I lose all my lovely photos, contacts and music, but at least I have my screen fixed and will no longer cut my face on a phone call and wake up to find shards of glass all over my bed. I think that’s a win, even though it took a while to get there.
I decide to treat myself to a pair of ankle boots I’ve wanted for ages in order to compensate for everything else, because I am feeling a little self-pitying and gave into internal peer-pressure. I arrive home and try the boots on when I notice I just can’t get one of the boots on. I pick up the offending boot and happen to glance at the inside of the boot and notice the number ‘4’. That can’t be right because I’m a size 5 and the other boot fits perfect. That’s because the other boot is a 5. Brilliant. Back to New Look I’ll go tomorrow, with all of the spare time that I don’t have.
So finally, yesterday was the icing on the cake. I went to the tip to take some rubbish and figured that because I was only going to be 5 minutes, it was acceptable to go in my hungover state, wearing pyjama trackys, a vest and a thin jacket, with last night’s make up and I’m ashamed to say, without even brushing my teeth. It’s fine though, because I don’t need to see or talk to anyone because it is a tip, and it’ll be a flying visit. Wrong. Upon arrival, my logic was this. To prevent somebody stealing my car in the 2 seconds that I’m throwing rubbish into the tip, I lock the door before going to the boot to get the rubbish. It didn’t even cross my mind that even if someone did happen to want to steal my 51 plate battered silver micra, they couldn’t because I had the keys on me. You know what it’s like, with all these Facebook things flying around about what could happen to you if you’re not vigilant, you get a bit paranoid. After disposing of the boot rubbish, I figure that seeing as it’s been over a year since the first time my car was cleaned (by me, and definitely not by my sister honest!), I might as well throw the rubbish out from the back seat of my car into the tip too. I put the keys down on the back seats, and begin to gather the rubbish. I locked the passenger door from the inside and shut it behind me and went to dispose of the rubbish. It was only when I got back to my car I realised that I had done the unthinkable and locked my keys inside on the back seat, and therefore locked myself out of my car. I should add that this comes just several weeks after I locked my keys in the boot, but luckily hadn’t locked the door that time so was able to climb through and retrieve them without too much of a bother. And on that occasion I thought, ‘my god, what would have happened if I had locked the door. I don’t have a spare, I really should try and get one, that would not have been fun.’ And fun it was not. Freezing is what it was. Thank god I had kept my phone in my jacket pocket and could Google the number for the Barclay’s graduate bank breakdown cover (which I must add, I only have because I upgraded to the account for the phone insurance and that came free!!! PRAISE BE TO BARCLAYS). The RAC came to the rescue and bailed me out, but only after 2 men in a van were howling at my situation, the RAC man still couldn’t understand how I’d ended up in this position, and various other tip-goers I think just thought I was a bit of a weirdo just chilling on the wall at the side of the tip. I can’t even put into words how hideous I looked… and in my hungover state it was extremely difficult to stifle my gagging at the horrific smell that was surrounding me. It was disgusting.
Life-affirming moral of the story: Life will throw crap at you, and it will test you. Keep going and persevere. You’ll get there in the end.
Real moral of the story: if you break your phone get it fixed straight away and just pay full price at apple so you don’t get a half-hearted job from somebody who thinks they have a fantastic memory when they obviously don’t, and lose all your precious data in the process. Always check shoes from new look before purchase as they don’t have anything tying them together like normal shops therefore common sense is essential and if you don’t have it you need a back up plan to always CHECK. And just get RAC breakdown cover even though you think you’ll never use it because you just never know what you may do. And finally, don’t ever falsely believe it’s safe to go out barely dressed and sporting last night’s make up. You just don’t know what’ll happen – don’t chance it.
Reflect and Introspect 