So, just how hard did it rain in Chicago on Monday night?
So hard that my cell phone suffered catastrophic water damage when I ran from Cubby Bear to my apartment (about, oh, three-quarters of a mile) just as the late-night monsoon that finally ended the Cubs game for good began pouring down.
And my cell phone, mind you, was inside my pocket.
Sure, I was more soaked than Michael Phelps in that new SportsCenter commercial when I got home.
But still … who knew Razr phones were made of sugar.
Anyways, thus began my week: A Perfect Storm begatting a Perfect Storm of technological collapse.
And, really, it still hasn’t stopped raining.
Not in my world, at least.
Because, four days after my phone went belly up and my home cable and Internet did the same — for inexplicable reasons (those failures occurred pre-storm) — I’m still living in the veritable Dark Ages.
Two trips to an AT&T store and two more to the Apple Store on Michigan Avenue have resulted only in an iPhone that’s at least a week away from arriving — and the knowledge that phone warranties don’t cover water damage (thank goodness, my brother had an old phone to loan me during the interim).
Meanwhile, two phone conversations with my cable company have resulted only in the knowledge that they absolutely have no idea why my service is still out (the rest of Chicago is apparently working just fine, thanks) — and that the earliest they can get a tech guy out to my apartment is Saturday.
Yeah, the 16th.
(What is this a “Seinfeld” episode?)
As a result, I’m writing this blog from a Panera.
I certainly can’t post anything from my place, which was a technology wasteland worthy of the 1940s when I awoke on Tuesday morning.
Imagine if you can — and, believe me, it’s not going to be easy — what it’s like realizing that you’ve lost phone service, cable service and Internet service simultaneously.
You can’t find the right phone numbers to call for help, because, well, you can’t get online. And even if you could get the numbers, well, you can’t call them because — oh! — you have no phone.
So old-school was my place on Tuesday that I felt an urge to turn on the radio, sit down in front of it Indian-style and twist the dial in search of “Little Orphan Annie.”
If only, my phonograph player wasn’t in the shop …
With encouraging words, my friends and family — chatting with me probably while they shopped online and watched TiVo — have told me all week long that things would get better.
And they will. They already have, in fact.
After all, they couldn’t get much worse.
That is unless, you get me started on the bogus parking ticket I received and the permit sticker I now need for my car.
Really, though, have a great weekend, everyone.
Shoot me an e-mail or post a comment if you get a chance.
I’ll probably get to read it someday.