This Kid Needs His Fix

Monday, May 2 marked a dark day in my young life.

The day started off as any normal Monday would due to the horrifically depressing knowledge that I had four entire days of school until the freedom of the weekend; but little did I know, I would soon find myself facing the end of the world — as we know it.

The one saving grace of Mondays is that I am done with classes earlier than any other day of my school week. After weathering the storms of history of Renaissance Art and my political relations class-Italy and the U.S., I returned to my humble Roman apartment.

I should mention that this story takes place in Rome, which is located in that country in the center of the Mediterranean Sea, called Italy.

Rome is an amazing city, although many aspects of the Roman lifestyle feel as old as the cobblestone roads.

Upon returning home, I sat down to rid my mind of the stresses of the day and catch up with the world through the magic of the Internet. Naturally, I always begin with Facebook because let’s face it, my world is more interesting to me than reading about Italian Prime Minister Silvio Burlesconi’s latest sexual escapade.

I took out my MacBook Pro, flipped it open and typed in my password. My eyes were wide and my brain was ready to be sedated, but something was wrong. The little beach ball icon that I love so much was overstaying its welcome and I realized my computer had frozen.

My laptop has never given me too much trouble, however, I’m not as dumb as most college-aged Mac owners who tend to think these machines are invincible.

With no other options I turned it off and turned it back on, but my baby was not coming back to me this time. Anger flooded my veins as I jumped on my roommate’s laptop to find the nearest Apple Store in Rome and bolted out the door to catch the bus.

I charged to the main desk in the Apple Store, my eyes were bloodshot and my brow was furious. I stared into the eyes of the only available employee and said, “I need my fix man, just give me my fix.”

I should point out that although I had lived in Rome for exactly three months on this day, I could not speak nor understand Italian to save my life. An old man listening to the rapper Twista with his “bad ear” could probably comprehend more than I could while communicating with an Italian.

Eventually I was rescued from the situation by an English-speaking employee whose nose could probably fit all of Narnia inside.

For the next 30 minutes, I stood at the front desk of the Apple Store while he ran diagnostics — although he mostly just turned my computer on and off — complicated tests I had already done at home.

His conclusion was the computer would need to be taken into the lab in order to identify and fix the problem. However, it could take as long as 14 days to complete.

Seeing as I only had 20 days left abroad — and Italy is notorious for delaying completion of projects — I decided I was safer to not give them my computer.

I left that store a broken man, angry at my disconnection from the world and all that is holy. I stumbled through the Vatican listening to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” and cursing the moments as they passed.

Every so often I would be reminded of something I would miss out on because of my lack of computer.

This includes sitting on Facebook with chat turned off so nobody will judge me for being online for six hours straight or photoshoping myself into funny pictures yet never sharing them with the rest of the world.

I slept with my computer under my pillow that night, desperate the technology god would visit and restore my love to her former perfection but it was all to no avail. 

I continued mourning through the next day until my roommate and my girlfriend offered me use of their computers to ease my loss.

It’s a different world when you live life from Facebook session to Facebook session because you just never know when that next one is coming.

So for the next 20 computer-less days in Rome, I must savor every moment I have on the Internet like a fat kid savors his last tater tot.

­— agreiner@indiana.edu