The Agony of Switching Phones

Everybody faces stress these days, particularly in today's rocky political, social and economic climate. There's the stress of crazed dictators ready to press that Big Red Shiny Button to end everything. It's kinda stressful when the so-called lawmakers of our country act like feuding children on the playground. Who doesn't stress on making ends meet? And health scares? "Wait a minute, wait a minute, hold on just a minute! Was this stressful mole there yesterday?" Gotta love family! Family's always a fun stressor. But the biggest stressor of all (or at least in the top three), is changing phones.

I feel like I've just been through war and the side of electronics nearly beat me down. But I persevered, sweating it out for days, until...victory!

Let me give you a bit of background (you're welcome!): For years, I fought my wife over wanting to get me a cell phone. Period. 

I said, "Wife, I don't want a celluar telephone."

She replied, "Why not, husband?" (Yes, we're weird.)

"Because I don't want to become those people. You know...the people who go out to eat and won't even attend to their partner over the dinner table, but instead are putting dog noses on their faces in photos and sending it out to strangers they don't even know."

I could get away with that kinda reasoning for only so long. After awhile, I began to understand how a cell phone could simplify life. So I finally relented and got my very own celluar flip phone! Trumpets!

And I was perfectly content with it, too. I could answer calls while not at home! Wow! I could actually send a text message! Cool! (Even though it took me 15 minutes... Tap, Tap, Tap, bingo, right letter! Tap, tap, tap...crap! Start over...) Everything and then some of all I needed.

Then my wife decides I should upgrade.

"Why?"

"You're a dinosaur. Nobody uses flip phones any more. With an upgrade, you can get directions, weather, cruise the internet..."

But like Grandpa fighting those newfangled, dad-gummed VCR's, I defied change and chose to dwell in my dinosaur valley. Until my wife gifted me with an Android one Christmas, probably the only way I'd ever upgrade.

Looking at it, I crinkled up my face like I'd just opened a package of underwear. "But...but...but...how does it work?"

Slowly, baby-steps, ever so carefully, I learned, mastered, and conquered. It only took eight months, too! I ended up putting my entire life into the phone. Passwords, photos (including several of me with a dog-nose), important documents, and most importantly, my ongoing games of choice (Angry Birds 2 and Wordle).

Alas, the Android had its drawbacks. I found this out after about eight years. The memory was crap. It locked up all the time. And the biggest problem of all? I couldn't do all the great filters on SnapChat that my brother could do on his iPhone.

But, still, I hesitated... I didn't want to lose the progress on my games that I'd carefully cultivated for years. As I stated earlier, my whole life was on the phone. What if something went astray in the Great Changeover of 2023?

So, I took the bold plunge into 2023 with a sparkly new iPhone. And immediately I wished I hadn't. Much, MUCH more complex than my humble Android, there were bells and whistles controlling bells and whistles signifying more hidden bells and whistles. I still can't figure out how to turn it off without going all the way into the settings and then some sub-sets after that. I don't need all of these blasted bells and whistles. I just need the button that puts a dog nose on my photo!

My wife says, "Go to one of the phone shops and ask them." That, of course, was out of the question. There are three kinds of demons walking the earth: 1) Car salespeople; 2) Furniture salespeople; and 3) Phone salespeople. (The fourth kind is politicians, but I've covered that area enough for a while). All of these demons share an in-your-face, fast-talking, no time to breathe, hardcore sales approach and I loathe dealing with them. In many ways, the phone guys are the worse. All of them are completely tech-savvy millennials who can't wait to smirk at the dumb old guy bringing in his eight year old Android that looks like a Transformer with the neon green, clunky protective case. The idiot who can't turn his phone off. So, that option was off the table.

My biggest fear was transferring my data. How? I could manually load in every single contact (how did I get to know so many people?), but didn't have the patience or time. Time spent better playing Angry Birds 2. 

Ms. Google steered me toward two directions. The Apple preferred manner was to set up some commands on both phones, punch a few buttons, then completely wipe your Android and lose all data! WHAAAAAA? Oh, HELL no. I wasn't going to lose eight years of my life. Terrifyingly stressful.

The second option was go into your various phone "stores" and download an app that would transfer data. With great trepidation, I did so. I watched the YouTube video over and over, pausing intermittently to recite back the next step. On my work table, I had two phones, my laptop, and pen and paper. My finger hovered over the button, ready to push, while my mind screamed to stop, taking on the personality and traits of my old beaten up Android: AIEEEEEE! Don't KILL me, Stuart! PLEASE, dear God, don't kill meeeeeeeee!

I held my breath. Closed my eyes, praying to the tech gods who lurk next door to Cthulhu (and why he doesn't mow his damn yard is a point of contention), opened my eyes. With a shaking finger, I let it rip.

I waited. Like watching a pot boiling water, but much, much more intense.

Finally...SUCCESS! I couldn't believe it. I checked everything and by gum, it seemed to all be there. Still, I distrusted it. Continually, I set the phone down, picked it up ten minutes later to make sure the data was still there (kinda like new parents putting their hand on their baby while its sleeping to make sure it's still breathing; admit it, parents! We've all done it.).

Yet there was a long road ahead of me. Passwords were not copied over as were other various things. But all of my dog-nosed pictures had been saved. Mercifully so. After 48 hours, I finally was able to sleep.

While my head's still confused over the entire ordeal, pity poor Leon Garber. He doesn't understand why the corporation he used to work remotely for, Like-Minded Individuals, Inc., has blackballed him. Maybe even wants to kill him. And really, all he wants to do is go about his business: accounting during the day and killing off evil scum at night. That's right, it's Secret Society (the first of a trilogy) full of darkly black humor, thrills, mystery and suspense. You can get it here or ask for it at your local bookstore (but do it in a whisper; you never know when Like-Minded Individuals, Inc. are listening.)