Powerless and Fried: Modem Meltdowns & Manicures:

A Catastrophic Attempt at Offline Productivity

Ah, the tale of the power outage—it’s like watching a suspenseful thriller, but the only suspense is wondering when you’ll finally reconnect to cyberspace again.

One moment you’re basking in the glow of your screen, and the next, you’re plunged into darkness. And so began my 2 1/2 day odyssey into the Stone Age, courtesy of a power grid with the resilience of overcooked spaghetti, and a resulting fried modem.

Living in a place where power outages are as common as finding a left sock without its partner, we’ve become pseudo-survivalists, ready for the next blackout. Or so I believed. It turned out the lanterns were loaded with old batteries, so we used our phone flashlights to hunt and peck for our flashlights in various “junk drawers”. But they only confirmed what we already knew: we were powerless.

You never truly appreciate electricity until you’ve tried to write posts on your phone, squinting at the tiny screen like a watchmaker or a dentist trying to do a repair without the loupe (magnifying glass). Unfortunately, as hard as I tried, my fingers only managed to type gibberish. Trying to type text on a tiny keyboard when you have long nails is as successful as threading a needle while wearing boxing gloves.

But, as they say, when life gives you lemons, you read the lemonade recipes posted by those you follow. Lacking the ability to produce content, I turned to consuming it, and dove into the posts written by Jay Squires; Sam David Parker; Sara Nobahar; Sara Flower; Just Maanuel; Shayla Renee; Cilian Murphy; Patrick OConnell; Zion; Dogli Wilberforce SEO; Flora; Matesanz ; Miz Bones; Charlie J; Josh Hinton; Liu Xing; Colin Douglas; Mahmoud Mamo; Aracelly Bibl; Dr Mehmet Yildiz; Joshua Mason; Yasin Sukhera; Mitch; Power of Positivity ; Christina Piccoli; Muqaddas Mushtaq; Ilakkuvaselvi ; Learning Pages; Jason Benskin; Msfireballsmom ;Jl Millis ; Vipan Razdan; Steve VanAllen ; Earnie Samuel Ngalo; Val Garner; Robin Harald Wordsmith ;Ludiane de Brocéliande ; Adrian Lungu ; Alice and her Kitchen; Justiss Goode; Justiss Goode ; Agata Szymula; Harlot O Scara; Samantha’s Insights; Brenna Clark ;Ayush Rajkoomar; Scott Wood; Dennis Koluris; Martynas Ki; Anne Welborn; Chung Yuen Keong; SimpleThought; Arvind Suryakumar; Sogand Nobahar; Anthony R. ; Sam the writer ; Chats With Deb; CuriousMindset ; yahya alshraa ;Kamel. F ; Atul Kamboj ; Meng Li ;Yuzuri ;Alan Yarborough; Ilinka Anderson; Prashant Patel; Dei Kwasi Bright; briana pagan; Jess — Mindset & Finance; JT. Alexander; JT. Alexander; Moses Nartey; Aspirational Figures; Alicia Peterson; Athena Intelligence; Jenny Alexander; Anthony C.; Roxy Writer; Moses Nartey; Michael Rhodes; Lia Koffi; Abu Talha; Dr-marketing; Alexis Noble; Janet L Boyd; Ali Alzahrani; VIP Dog Lovers Club; Kelly Martone;

There are so many others I follow and read, but I couldn’t post everyone’s names. Sorry!

So I scrolled and I read, and clapped, and sometimes commented too. And as I did, my admiration for their creativity grew. But attempting to comment with my red talons turned every word into a misspelled mess. Even auto-correct gave up, unable to decipher my intentions.

The thought of cutting my nails down to a working length crossed my mind more than once — a drastic measure for desperate times. But I envisioned myself, a modern-day Samson, losing my strength with each snip of the scissors, so that idea went out the window along with the heat.

When power finally returned after two failed attempts by the Electric Cooperative, I discovered my modem had gone to the great network in the sky, its lights as dark as my hopes for a quick fix. It was supposedly to be safeguarded by a surge protector that cost me more than a small island, but it didn’t survive this latest electrical temper tantrum.

As I embarked on the quest to get a new modem, I found myself trapped in the usual purgatory of customer service phone hell, a place where time stands still. I recited the tragic tale of my modem’s demise to not one, not two, but three agents, each requiring a fresh retelling as if I were auditioning for a role in a TV series. By the time they granted me the golden ticket for a technician’s visit, it seemed like everyone in my county and their dog had beaten me to an appointment. I was slotted in two agonizing days later, a time frame that in the digital age feels like being sentenced to hell in dial-up land.

For those too young to remember dial-up modem noises — they were a series of beeps and boops, followed by a static-like noise that crescendos into an ear-numbing screeching sound, and finally settles into a white noise hum to signal the connection was established.

So there I sat, (shivering under the electric blanket because our house takes hours to heat), my fate sealed on the calendar, awaiting the arrival of the one person who could breathe life back into my digital existence. The modem taunted, as it reminded me of my crippling dependence on the internet for virtually everything. There I was, stranded in the no-man’s-land of disconnection, where sanity teetered on the edge of reality and the only “MEDIUM” interaction I had was on my cell phone with it’s tiny screen and too-tiny keys.

The day before the technician’s arrival felt longer than a Monday in the worst job I ever had (at Disneyland, but that story is for another day). I found myself longing for the days when the biggest worry was someone picking up the landline and disconnecting the dial-up. At least then, the enemy was known and could be yelled at. Now, I was grappling with the silent torment of an inanimate object’s betrayal — my modem, which was now just a paperweight taunting my solitude.

I caught myself talking to it, bargaining with it for just a flicker of light as I moved it around to different outlets. “Come on, don’t do this to me. I promise to dust you in the future, really I will!” But it remained silent, its lights unresponsive, disbelieving my lie about dusting.

Yes, as today’s appointment approached, it was clear that this wasn’t just a service appointment — it was a quest for reconnection in the most literal sense. A journey to reclaim what I’d once taken for granted — unlimited, uninterrupted access to the world through my 15-inch computer screen. And so, with a heart full of hope, I waited for my rendezvous with the wiz technician, ready to once again bask in the glow of my modem’s LED lights.

And like all epic dramas, mine too had a happy resolution. The internet was restored, and with it, my sanity. As I reconnected with the digital world again, a sense of normalcy washed over me. The ordeal had ended, and I emerged victorious, nails intact.

In hindsight, the power outage saga was more than just a test of patience; it taught me the importance of resilience, the value of content consumption, and the undeniable fact that long nails and cellphone keyboards are archenemies in a never-ending war — only good for texting.

So here I am, back in the land of the connected, my modem doing it’s job as if nothing happened. I’ve returned to writing, my nails clicking on the computer’s keys with only a faraway reminder of the ordeal that almost ended my sanity. And to those who might find themselves in a similar predicament, remember: keep your nails, keep your sanity, and above all, laugh at the absurdity of becoming a slave to the little blinking box.