Yesterday, my weekly Saturday pilgrimage to Nonno’s (vegan) Butcher in the Hamilton Farmer’s Market was sabotaged by an exploding laptop battery. I bet that you did not know that was a thing: the exploding battery, that is, not the vegan butcher. For if you have eaten a vegan deli sandwich anywhere north of the Canada-US border, it is highly likely that you have experienced Nonno’s deli meat. I say, “experienced,” rather than “eaten,” because the latter expression would underdetermine the event.
So, my Saturday started out pretty much as usual: reading email, taking a shower, and so on. Then somehow, at some point, it just happened. The battery exploded. I do not recall hearing it nor feeling it, but I did both feel and see the after-effects. My laptop felt unbalanced, was teeter-tottering. When I looked at the right-side of the laptop, it was entirely open, its internal organs exposed to the light of day. Hadn’t I been exuberant about my laptop only the day before when Mich and I sat outside Bad Attitude Bread?
I sent a hasty message through Facebook to my dear friend/philosophy graduate school peer/queer ally/brother from another mother/confidante/software expert Blaine that my laptop was in a state of distress. After some communication and miscommunication, as well as a few failed attempts to send a photo of the distressed laptop, Blaine sent me reassurances and affirmations, in addition to a phone number that I was to call immediately for hardware expertise.
I call the number. The voice at the other end was so calm about what I described that when it (calmly) told me that I should expect a house call between 2pm and 4pm, I thought that I must have done an inadequate job of articulating the gravity of the situation. When I put down my phone, furthermore, I realized that my aim to secure one of the Mortadella or Ham Classicos at Nonno’s had been effectively quashed, defeated by technology, conquered by an artifact. Because every vegan in town knows that the place sells out by one o’clock on Saturdays. There was now no way that I could get dressed, get out the door, and walk to the Market by 12:45 to procure one of the prized sandwiches, nor was there time to get back home again in case my coveted visitor arrived early.
Computer guy arrived promptly at 1:55 and entered with his unnervingly calm demeanor. Meanwhile, I’m alarmingly anxious (and thinking about how I must wait until Thursday when Nonno’s opens again): Why did this happen? Did I do something wrong? How much will this cost to fix? How long will I be without my computer? Will you please call my friend so that he can talk me through this?
Calm-computer-guy calls Blaine. They send photos back and forth. The back of the laptop is finally removed after some confusion and explanation (to me) about the number of screws that it should have had to hold it together. And there it lay: the ominously swollen battery, which calm-computer-guy tells me should lie flat.
More back and forth with Blaine. Calm-computer-guy will order the replacement battery and return today or tomorrow to install it. Easy peasy, or so it seems. I must wait at home for his text/call/email. Without the Nonno’s mortadella. Should I write some philosophy or should I look at some more Basquiat while I wait?
