Finding Inspiration In An Unlikely Place

For the better part of a week I’ve had a problem with a key on my laptop.  The letter “g” is stuck. Not just sticky but frozen. Whenever it’s depressed, no character appears. My sticky ‘g’ happened without warning just like a light bulb when its useful life comes to a screeching halt. For a writer, a sticky key is annoying, and a frozen key is a nightmare. To make matters worse, the spell checker isn’t always kicking in, so I’ve resorted to manually copying-and-pasting a ‘g’ where it needs to be.  Do you have any idea how many words there are in the English language with the letter ‘g’? (A big shout-out to my son-in-law for educating me on a keyboard shortcut: “command-v” copies and pastes a saved character stream.)

Last week when my ‘g’ stopped performing, I struggled for about a half hour before nabbing a genius bar appointment at the mall Apple store.  You know the drill. Five days out, the open slot I nabbed bumped hard into the dinner hour. Over the weekend, my ‘g’ and me had frustrating writing sessions, so when the sun rose this morning I did a happy dance.  Finally it was Monday— the day of unsticking my ‘g’. I was determined to be early for my repair. One minute past 4:30 and I knew that the Apple gatekeepers would drop me from the queue and tell me to reschedule.

My fancy watch is partially to blame for almost missing the longed-for genius bar appointment. In strapping it on this morning, I noticed it had gone the way of my sticky ‘g’. With just over an hour before I was due at the Apple store, I dashed into the jewelers. Leaving it for repair, my cell phone would function as a timepiece in its absence.

During the trek across town from the jeweler to the mall, traffic built up behind a fender-bender.  As I checked the dashboard clock, I noticed that the tire pressure warning light had popped on. (You can’t make this stuff up.) The driver’s side tire has been an intermittent issue and I cursed the timing. The air kiosk at my friendly Mobil would have to wait until after the Apple store. Fingers crossed that I wasn’t about to have a flat.

Loaded down with my computer backpack and wearing ballet flats, I hustled through the crowded mall parking lot, skirted around oblivious shoppers, and landed at Apple’s threshold completely out of breath. With one minute to spare, I’d honored my timeslot, but the technician didn’t. It was a whopping twenty minutes before he finally sauntered over.  His face gleamed with appropriate Apple cheer as I explained my sticky ‘g’ dilemma. With a nod and another smile, he disappeared into the back room with my computer.

Five minutes later my laptop sported a new key, but this ‘g’ was an identical twin to the old one— she was sticky too. The ultimate solution was as appealing as being bumped from an oversold flight: mail in my computer for a keyboard overhaul; the turn around time estimated at seven days. If you’re writing two weekly blogs, crafting a memoir, and enrolled in an online course, being unplugged for 24 hours much less seven days is unthinkable.

Don’t you have a backup computer, the Apple guy asked? Uh, yeah except my ancient laptop is in Chicago and I’m not.  I glared at the familiar sight of a frozen ‘g’ and sent ugly thoughts towards the ineffective and tardy Apple technician. I made the sterling choice to wait and deal with the extended service scheme until I resided in the same city as my backup computer.  

So, I walked out of the Apple store in full possession of my laptop, no watch, and praying to all my favorite patron saints that in my absence the driver side front tire wasn’t kissing the pavement.  Jumping back into rush hour traffic, I praised my trusty saints and called my favorite Mexican joint for takeout. Who tempts fate by cooking when the afternoon had trembled with mechanical failures?

Since my order wasn’t ready, I ventured into the ladies restroom.  The two regular stalls were occupied but the handicapped one was free.  I lucked into a bathroom the size of a small apartment. With plenty of hooks to hang up my purse and sweater, the room was clean, possessed a full roll of toilet paper, and held both a toilet bowl and a sink. It offered another bonus: a mural. “Hey Gorgeous” was stenciled in huge silver letters across the wall. Chuckling out loud, I washed up and left a hefty tip with the hostess.

It’s not everyday you leave a public bathroom with a smile on your face, especially on the heels of an afternoon wrought with minor fiascos.  With the scent of home cooked Mexican tickling my taste buds and the memory of the bathroom mural perking up my mood, my grin survived the twenty-minute drive home. Focusing on the bathroom’s cheeky compliment, I forgot about the tire warning light, the watch, and my frozen ‘g’.  I figured that those pesky problems would sort themselves out over time. I wasn’t letting anything else spoil the remainder of my Monday.

Please share your tales of unlikely inspiration. I’d like to hear them.

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