So here at work, something odd happened.
At 10:03, my iPod skipped.
It was just a flutter of a skip - the heroine in the story saying "Come on -" before getting cut off with a strangled sound that I am pretty sure she was never supposed to make (unless there is an adult rated version of this in the fetish aisles of the XXX store down the street).
I glance at my iPod, annoyed to be taken away from my typing work, and note that the little silver apple is on the otherwise black screen.
I pick it up and shake it - lost as I am to the clutches of this Apple techno craziness, I still don't actually understand any of it. I probably look ridiculous to the IT guy who is still trying to fix a coworker's computer (he's in here about three times a week, just staring at her monitor wondering what he did wrong in school to end up at that exact moment).
Shaking it, of course, does nothing, so I raise an eyebrow and look inquisitively at it, willing it to show me what's wrong with it - and preferably, how to fix it. Afterall, it is my bloody property.
Obey me. I will.
It stares back at me, this time without the metallic apple for a visual and does nothing.
It sits in my palm, heavy and irritating.
I sigh and press the two buttons on it.
Finally, the painted Geisha (my screen display) winks into view and I suppress a yell of triumph.
It winks out again.
"Curses!" I whisper at it, then purse my lips and consider my options. The Apple Store is like a vacuum of evilness built from wall to wall with people who halfheartedly but earnestly want you to spend more money on Apple products that will break or infuriate you into walking back into the store to buy more products that ... well, you understand - it's a vicious cycle of evilness.
Gmail blinks at me from my computer screen. It's the Boyfriend. Aha! Thinks I. My saviour! I quickly tap tap tap on the keyboard and tell him my problem.
He scoffs (yes, I can hear a scoff on Gmail chat, it's sounds like "dur durp dee durp" which is what he is really saying out loud when he types "ORLY?"), and tells me it's probably one of my pirated audio files.
Check the other files.
I frown and consider this, then slowly attempt to resurrect my screen. Gaily twinkling at me, the Geisha appears. Fudgeknuckles, yeah? Fine. I think and proceed to select another track.
So far, so good.
Give it another hour.