A Minor Mishap

I came in the door from work last Wednesday to see the contents of Sam's wallet spread out on paper towels across the dining room table. As I was trying to digest this, I looked over at Sam and saw him sitting at the computer. He turned and looked at me with a look of sheer panic on his face. Apparently, he had gone in a swimming pool and he forgot to empty the contents of his pockets - which included, not only his wallet, but also his cell phone.

This cell phone is one I bought for Sam close to two years ago. I got it, not so much to give him a phone (he had a flip phone at the time) but because I wanted him to get familiar with using some of the other things, things such as reading maps and accessing his calendar and putting together shopping lists. Since that time, he has not only become fairly proficient with some of these programs, but he also uses it to read the news and of course, to play Pokemon Go.

Anyway, as I'm standing in the dining room, digesting all of this, Sam, with his look of panic, is trying to find the right words and trying to relate all of what happened, and as he does he slaps his forehead, hard - and he tells me that he made a mistake.

At this point, I've been in the house for maybe as much as a minute. So, aside from telling him to please not hit himself, I’m still standing there trying to take all of this in.

I'm not someone who yells, but when something goes wrong (and even when it doesn’t) I have a habit of letting out a sigh. When I heard about Sam’s phone, I let out a sigh. Unfortunately, Sam picks up on things like this.

I did my best to stifle any frustration and to "regain my composure," which is to say, to try and not sigh - and with my head still spinning, I told Sam it was just a mistake and that we had insurance on it - and I asked him if he could let me get on the computer so that I could contact Tech Support.

So, I got on the computer and contacted Tech Support and I chatted with them, twice - once as me, and when they realized that Sam was legally an adult, once as Sam.

While I was on the computer, a heavy storm rolled in - as if to say that there wasn’t enough drama already. As I’m chatting away online, lightning was exploding outside my window. Knowing how things usually go, I expected to lose power at any minute. So, racing (and I use that word loosely) against the deadline of the inevitable power outage, I was typing more frantically and incoherently than usual.

Between the typing and the re-typing and the re-logging on, the chat lasted about forty-five minutes. But the power stayed on and while there were a few stumbling blocks along the way, ultimately it was decided that they would send out a replacement phone.

Great. This was step one.

Step two was going to be setting up the new phone. I was kind of dreading step two.

A couple of months ago, I went through a similar thing with my own phone. The battery on my old phone was no longer holding a charge and it was time for a replacement. I went through a similar process with tech support (without the thunder and lightning) and when the replacement phone arrived, transferring files and settings from the old phone to the new one was something less than seamless.

Ultimately, setting up the new phone took four tries - and nearly three hours - before I was able to import everything - and that was with me being able to use my old phone for a backup. Sam's old phone was completely dead. If I were going to be able to restore anything, it would have to be from an online backup - a backup that I wasn’t sure existed.

I knew Sam’s contacts would be online, but I wasn’t sure about what else. Sam cared about his contacts, but otherwise, his biggest concern was losing his Pokemon Go app and his Santa Tracker app. I figured we had plenty of time before he needed his Santa Tracker app but I knew there was a Pokemon Go event coming up (don’t ask) and he would be worrying about it up until then. “Don’t worry. We’ll do the best we can,” I said. That’s about as positive as I could be while not quite making any commitments.

Losing his phone was still bothering him at bedtime. As I covered him up, he was wearing his trademarked stressed-out face. Not only that, he was whispering to himself - something he doesn’t do as often as he used to - unless he is really, REALLY stressed out.

He still felt bad about wrecking the phone, he said, and I could really feel his pain (an expression I hate - but at the moment, I can’t think of anything more appropriate). I felt bad about my earlier insignificant frustration, which by now had melted away.

Making sure I refrained from any more sighing (even though this time, it would have been out of sadness and empathy instead of frustration) I sat down in the chair next to his bed and I patted his back and let him know that it was a simple mistake, that it could have happened to anybody, including me, and it would all work out.

I stayed for a little longer and we talked a little bit more. But mostly, I just sat there patting his back, and I told him that that I loved him and I did my best to convince myself that it was somehow making a difference.