Ummmmmmmmm.......

Laptop under arm, I enter the repair shop I had spoken to the day before.  My laptop has been temperamental and moody; shutting itself off for no reason, catching me mid pen stroke on a digital art project that I had invested an hour in unsaved...more than once.  I was frustrated for not saving (again), but more concerned that my laptop was 'broken'. 

'Broken" was a term used for anything requiring professional attention...more accurately, monetarily compensated professional attention.  Autumn had produced a lot of 'broken' at my residence and the rental property in Sedona where I had recently stayed had plenty of 'broken' as well.  I secretly wondered if I was somehow to blame...bad kharma?  Wrong ju ju?  Poor choice in anti-perspirant?

An idea flashed in mind for atonement and I pondered a simple but effective virgin sacrifice in my laptop's honor; but the internet proved to be easier at finding repair services than willing virgins in my zip code- despite the pop up add that assured me of singles in my area.  That said, I pondered the virgin sacrifice just a second longer.  I do love a good ceremony...

Still, the laptop repair shop had won out by convenience and I now venture towards the counter with my ailing friend.

"Hi, my laptop is broken." I offer as an introduction.

"Well, you came to the right place." the pleasant young woman behind the counter replies.  I quickly size up her virginity...perhaps a virgin sacrifice IN a computer repair shop? But I rapidly deduce that whether she was a virgin or not, she wasn't going to willingly participate and I never coerce a sacrifice. I would simply have to rely on technology. 

Talk is made of my computer's vitals and its apparent problem. Information is taken, as well as a credit card deposit.  My laptop is being tagged and slid across a counter; I feel panic rise in me.  What was I going to do without it?   All my files...and my history...

"I just need the password, if there is one... and we will be all set." she says sweetly.

Panic rises further. My password?  "ummmmm....."

Let me state here that I am inept with secure passwords and I use the same one over and over.  It is the price of a cheese pizza and a large soda back where I used to work at Panucci's Pizza.  If that didn't make you laugh, then you clearly do not watch Futurama.  But seriously, my password is really just as lame. 

I stall "I have to give you the password?"

"How else can we view the operating system?"  I know this is valid, but some part of me had assumed they could do it all through the mechanical innards.  Couldn't they just take a gander at the memory gizzard or feel for lumps on the mother board?

"Ummmm...." I begin again with no idea how to finish.  I do not want to give my password up.  It feels like giving them the keys to my identity. "ummmmm...." I continue some more in a slightly higher key. "How about if I put in the password?" I ask, breaking a sweat.

"No, that won't work...especially if it shuts off erratically." she counters looking at me with renewed interest.  Clearly, I am hiding something. Something juicy. Something big.

"Ummmm....can I change it first?" I say with no idea how to actually do this.  "Can you show me how?" 

"Why don't you just set it to not have a password for the moment?" she says and then provides me, the computer illiterate, the thorough explanation of how to accomplish this.  My mind is clicking throughout this transaction and I recall that I wrote a few racy stories for my husband's entertainment.  I also remember a few photos that I let him take.  Normally, such photos get viewed and trashed because they accurately reflect the nature of my body; but I kept a small collection in which I look better than real life. These few photos supported my distorted vanity that I was a 'hottie'. 

I quickly attempt to rationalize that these computer people are too nerdy to care about my silly photos.  Then I remember Tosh.0 and I freeze up.  I picture a not so kind tag line for that photo in the bikini with the temporary tiger tattoo.  Juicy. Big. 

"Ummmm...." I say again.  Apparently, this is my new impressive vocabulary.  I am stunning her with my language skills.

I am unsure how to handle this and my indecision is readily apparent.  I feel myself starting to blush as if my stories had just been read and my pale bikini squeezed tiger tattooed flesh exposed.  I am stammering. "I think I better bring it back Monday..." I say unconvincingly, adding "I may need some files over the weekend."  I sweep the laptop up, and apologize for my 'weirdness'.

"Don't apologize for being weird.  That is what makes you unique." The clerk says in a perky voice.  Yes.  Unique.  She has no idea.  And if they weren't going to look through my files before, they certainly will now...just to see what makes a middle aged woman blush and stammer "ummmmm....."