I got into my car this morning clutching my iPod Nano with a grip only an actor auditioning for a shake weight infomercial would understand.
This is partly because it was 16 degrees outside, but I also like to believe that love had to do with at least some of the rigor mortis contained in my appendages (I don’t like typing the word fingers).
In order to listen to my favorite music this week, which mostly consists of the Frozen soundtrack songs I’m not sick of yet and OneRepublic, I have to plug the iPod into an FM transmitter because I’m poor.
The sweet sounds of a terribly confused snowman start to enter my ear, compelling me to start checking what my iPhone has been up to while the car warms up. Feeling impressed that I haven’t checked the phone in about 12 minutes, I eagerly skim through my Tiny Death Star Updates and which articles my friends are drooling over.
Then it happens. Everything changes.
I see the headline that makes me wish that I checked my phone while I was cleaning my oatmeal dishes, but I didn’t because the therapist says I have a problem.
“The Age of the iPod is Over.” Heading.
“Apple’s Game Changer is Riding into The Sunset.” No.
By Sean Hollister. WHY SEAN??
Thanks to Sean’s ahem “analysis” on The Verge about depressing iPod sales over the holidays, my entire world gets flipped upside down.
He uses things like facts and math to prove that iPhones (no! My iPhone did this??) have “cannibalized” their predecessors. I panic.
Luckily, my hands are close to the iPod Nano, and I shut it off immediately. From what I can tell, no one even heard me using it.
But then something dawns on me. My roommate Kenny left for work just 10 minutes ago…and he’s probably using his iPod to listen to Foxy Shazam as I sit in the car feeling sorry for myself.
So I put the car in gear, even though it’s automatic, and fish-tail it out of our neighborhood, barely swerving in time to prevent an accidental school bus stop story that would have certainly been on the news.
I predict that the traffic will only slow me down, along with the fact that I don’t have any music to pump me up while I’m driving. For the first time in forever, I’m on my own.
But then I remember that there is one place Kenny can’t resist visiting before work, even when he’s running late. I don’t know if it’s because he’s from New Jersey, but the man can’t handle going a day without McDonald’s.
I pull into the parking lot peering over the heads of morbidly obese – I mean pleasantly plump – citizens who cloud my efforts to see Kenny. I then realize that he’s in the drive-thru, and I’ve just missed him.
I get back into my car and manage to pull out into the road in time to see Kenny braking behind a yellow light (obviously) so that he can start chowing down on whatever breakfast burrito combo they’re pushing this week.
I manage to move in close enough to the car to see Kenny, but he’s too busy enjoying disgusting food for me to gain his attention. And then I realize there’s only one solution. One disposable item that I can throw at his car in order to make him realize that life is happening.
I say goodbye to my iPod Nano, briefly revisiting the times we’ve shared. The laughs. The pressing “next” after Amy Winehouse comes on because it’s too painful. Then pressing “back” when I realize my mistake.
But it’s nothing but a memory now. I throw the iPod Nano toward Kenny’s driver side window. I then realize that the window is rolled down, so I have to pick the iPod up again and start over.
The iPod hits Kenny’s window at the moment he puts his mouth to paper that is either yellow because of its manufacturer or because of its content. He pauses. He tilts his head toward the window, getting ready to see just what disturbed his morning ritual. As his eyes set on mine, he squints.
I look him dead in the eye and wait for him to roll down his window. “WHAT?”
I explain the situation in one sentence. “The age of the iPod is over!”
Kenny looks down. Then he looks up. “I don’t have an iPod.”
Thanks for reading! This post was kind of a little fictional, though the emotions were definitely real, especially the original article that was, in fact, written by Sean Morris. Sean….
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