Control, Alt, Delete

I lost a large, important file.

I distinctly remember filing it somewhere on my computer. I hit "save as" and named it "Shorty." It was eighty pages of pure humor and wit, a satire for the ages. Visions of book signings, guest appearances on Gutfeld, red carpets, movie contracts, rated R.

About a year later I remembered I had been writing something. Being of sound mind, and a procrastinator most of the time, I sat down and typed "Shorty" into the search box.

I heard myself thinking "uh oh." My new computer wasn't properly introduced to my old, broken, crashed model. So, I spent the next hour typing in names and places, characters. Nada, nothing, niente. Gone. Back up didn't do what it was supposed to do. Reminded me of Millennials.

My IT guy, Jimmy, who is five years old, was taking a nap. He was no help. His recorded message said he had been fighting a tummy ache; and, that he would call me back as soon he felt better.

Since my file was last seen in a word document about one year ago, I figured I would forego Jimmie's sage advice, and search myself.

So I "googled" "backup," Carbon Paper" "Mimeograph" and "Cloud."

Google had never heard of carbon paper. Mimeograph was defined as a singer in the 50's named Sal.

Chat GPT wasn't helpful. It said something about DEI and how working together in this new world would facilitate an exciting adventure for everyone.

Except for me. Evidently you have to be woke to understand where to go. Ask Jimmy.

I searched every electrical device I had. Flip phone, Iphone, models 1,6,11,12, 12 mini, Ipad, Blackberry, LG refrigerator, Kindle, nest, Black & Decker Coffee maker. You name it.

I had to let it go. It was going to be impossible to remember one or two pages, much less 80 or so.

Que Sera, Sera. Whatever will be, will be. It died and went to a cloud. The world would never get to know Shorty, Aurora, or the Miedersmidts.

Last night, my IPhone froze on me. Normally, I'd just call Jimmy. He's 7 now, out of business, and owns a tech startup. His collection of fine automobiles keeps him too busy to care about old guys anymore.

I pushed what I thought to be the "shut off" button and a miracle occurred. The phone shut off! As I laid in bed wondering what Jimmy had that I didn't have, I hit the right button for a record two times in a row. The phone blinked erratically and sprang to life. Right there, in black and white, was the first page of "Shorty."

I saved Shorty under Shorty, made two hard, original ink on paper copies, sent two emails to each of my 5 email accounts with "Shorty" in the subject box, sent an original copy via U.S. Postal service to my children and set an appointment as a reminder to keep working on my book.

Who says "You can't teach an old dog new tricks?