Husband Post. Be warned.
Anyone who knows me knows I'm a bit of a gadget geek. Not only that, I'm an impatient gadget geek. I'm the guy who orders some ding-dangly new gadget from Amazon, opts for free two-day Prime shipping, and then checks the order status every hour, on the hour, for the next 48 hours.
It's bad.
I was away for work through most of the month of July, and during that time my phone gave up the ghost. (For the geeks in the crowd, the micro USB port on my HTC One M8 gave out, making it almost impossible to charge.) I go get a new phone and am drawn to the Samsung Galaxy S6 mainly because it has a great screen and is capable of charging under both the Qi AND the PMA wireless charging standards (I told you to be warned, didn't I?). I could do a whole post just about the complaints I have regarding Samsung as a corporation, but no one wants to hear that so I'll shut up about it. Long story short, I swallow my complaints, get my new phone, and hop online almost immediately to order a wireless charging pad for it. I find one I like, tell Amazon to ship it to my hotel room, and I begin the interminable wait for my new toy. After two of the longest days of my life, my new thing shows up.
At the end of a long day of work I head to the front desk to pick up my package, toting my heavy backpack and a small tool bag simply because I couldn't wait long enough to drop them off at my room first. I pick up my package, turn away from the desk, and tear into it immediately as I begin the walk back to my room. I pull out the little pad and begin to admire it. It's about the same shape and size as my new phone and it has a beautiful soft-touch rubbery finish to it, which is VERY pleasing to my hungry fingers. I push open the door to the stairwell to hike up to the second floor, all the while juggling my backpack, tool bag, my new toy, and the box it came in. In my haste I'm taking the stairs two by two when the toe of my shoe fails to clear the final step. BAM! I go down like a big, dumb sack of hammers. My arms shoot out to protect my beautiful face from meeting the concrete, but unfortunately it's my new toy the breaks my fall instead. I can feel my hand crush the thing as it takes the full weight of my fall and then skids and scrapes across the hard, rough floor.
After unleashing a barbaric yawp of anger, I gather my things and survey the damage. That new gizmo has just had it's beautiful rubbery finish destroyed. In its first 5 minutes of life, my new toy has been aged 5 years. I get to my room and plug it in to make sure it's still working (it is), then I begin to silently berate myself for my stupidity. If I had any patience at all, the thing would have still been safe in its box. If I'd only been able to wait the few minutes to open it in my room, I wouldn't have ruined the look and feel of my new toy.
As if that weren't bad enough, I tell this story to my wife and, knowing me as well as she does, she laughs her head off for a solid twenty minutes. She still laughs every time she thinks of it, and it's been nearly a month now. There's probably a lesson to be learned from this, gentlemen. DON'T LET YOUR WIFE KNOW YOU'RE A MORON.
Anyone who knows me knows I'm a bit of a gadget geek. Not only that, I'm an impatient gadget geek. I'm the guy who orders some ding-dangly new gadget from Amazon, opts for free two-day Prime shipping, and then checks the order status every hour, on the hour, for the next 48 hours.
It's bad.
I was away for work through most of the month of July, and during that time my phone gave up the ghost. (For the geeks in the crowd, the micro USB port on my HTC One M8 gave out, making it almost impossible to charge.) I go get a new phone and am drawn to the Samsung Galaxy S6 mainly because it has a great screen and is capable of charging under both the Qi AND the PMA wireless charging standards (I told you to be warned, didn't I?). I could do a whole post just about the complaints I have regarding Samsung as a corporation, but no one wants to hear that so I'll shut up about it. Long story short, I swallow my complaints, get my new phone, and hop online almost immediately to order a wireless charging pad for it. I find one I like, tell Amazon to ship it to my hotel room, and I begin the interminable wait for my new toy. After two of the longest days of my life, my new thing shows up.
At the end of a long day of work I head to the front desk to pick up my package, toting my heavy backpack and a small tool bag simply because I couldn't wait long enough to drop them off at my room first. I pick up my package, turn away from the desk, and tear into it immediately as I begin the walk back to my room. I pull out the little pad and begin to admire it. It's about the same shape and size as my new phone and it has a beautiful soft-touch rubbery finish to it, which is VERY pleasing to my hungry fingers. I push open the door to the stairwell to hike up to the second floor, all the while juggling my backpack, tool bag, my new toy, and the box it came in. In my haste I'm taking the stairs two by two when the toe of my shoe fails to clear the final step. BAM! I go down like a big, dumb sack of hammers. My arms shoot out to protect my beautiful face from meeting the concrete, but unfortunately it's my new toy the breaks my fall instead. I can feel my hand crush the thing as it takes the full weight of my fall and then skids and scrapes across the hard, rough floor.
After unleashing a barbaric yawp of anger, I gather my things and survey the damage. That new gizmo has just had it's beautiful rubbery finish destroyed. In its first 5 minutes of life, my new toy has been aged 5 years. I get to my room and plug it in to make sure it's still working (it is), then I begin to silently berate myself for my stupidity. If I had any patience at all, the thing would have still been safe in its box. If I'd only been able to wait the few minutes to open it in my room, I wouldn't have ruined the look and feel of my new toy.
As if that weren't bad enough, I tell this story to my wife and, knowing me as well as she does, she laughs her head off for a solid twenty minutes. She still laughs every time she thinks of it, and it's been nearly a month now. There's probably a lesson to be learned from this, gentlemen. DON'T LET YOUR WIFE KNOW YOU'RE A MORON.
