Dear Google Customer Service:

So I just uploaded all my files to your cloud drive. Believe me, this is nothing I would do intentionally, because as far as I can tell, “the cloud” means “up for grabs.”

You see, I was told to switch my browser to Chrome for optimal performance of a certain website. I noticed the rainbow icon at the bottom of my desktop and clicked on it, thinking it was a short cut icon to Google Chrome. Of course I clicked the triangle rainbow instead of the circle rainbow. I actually do know the difference between a triangle and a circle, but my knowledge of correct company logos is admittedly non-stellar.

So then I read the screen that popped up. Well, at least I remember the words “It’s easy” and “Google” and “get started.” In retrospect, there were probably several more words on that screen that would have been helpful to me if they had registered before I clicked “continue,” but I was operating on assumption mode and I have this problem with premature clicking. They haven’t made a pill for that yet.

So the next screen was probably the User Agreement. I do actually try to skim these, paying particular attention to the “Privacy,” “Liability,” and “Payment” headers. Of course, given that these things are written in legalize that turns my mind into a pretzel, even if I had read through it thoroughly I could have been selling my soul for all I know. If it’s an agreement that involves money in some way, I have my lawyer look through it. If it’s downloading a free program from a big name company, I generally throw the dice and click “Accept.”

Which brings me to the next screen. I believe it was a button to begin uploading. I clicked it and watched the “Please wait” bar fill up. At this point it dawned on me that uploading is not the same thing as downloading. Before I could hit cancel, the “upload is complete” notice popped up. In a panic, I attempted to access your Help site to find out how to get to the cloud and delete my files. I started seeing things about charges to my account. Charges? Good God, not only did I accidently upload my life onto the cloud, but apparently you were going to charge me for it.

I “chatted” with one of your customer service reps. He tried to help me. He was able to determine that I did not, in fact sign up for a paid account, and would not be incurring any charges. That’s great, but there was still the matter of my files. He informed me that the only way to delete my cloud account was to cancel my email account.

You say that as if it were no big thing. And since I have two more email accounts, it wouldn’t seem so. But the Internet is an intricate web. Each website I use requires an email account in order to interact. So I’ve accrued three different accounts for different purposes. If I erase my gmail account, I will have to recreate a dozen different accounts out there in web world. Given the CRAPOLYPSE I have begun in an attempt to download a new browser, you can see how this would be a problem for me. Doesn’t Google hire geniuses? You seriously don’t know how to delete a cloud account without deleting my entire Google identity?

So your most recent solution is to go get my files and delete them from the account. Yes, thank you. I thought of that, actually. Except that I cannot seem to access my cloud account. Oh, I can update my user information, but I can’t find my files or how to access them.

The paranoid in me is throwing up red flags. Why are we being asked to store our information on your cloud if we can’t access what we have stored there? My rational side says I have nothing of any value to anybody on those files, so what does it matter? And rather than it being a conspiracy designed to read the rough drafts of my novels, I am probably just not seeing the appropriate tool bar that will allow me to access the account. But seriously, why make it a scavenger hunt? My delusional side says, maybe I never really uploaded any files.

I have since been told that if I am not seeing a file folder when my account pops up, that there are no files there. So, never mind, I guess.

But there was that “Please wait” bar, and the “Upload was successful” notice. Shut up Paranoid, let Delusional have this one.
 
But if any of you happen upon my files up there in that cloud of yours – I cannot be held responsible for those notes on bizarre dreams that sounded like a brilliant premise for a book at three o’clock in the morning, nor the crazy ramblings written during a hormone-induced anxiety attack. Just never mind, okay?

Sincerely,

audramiddle@gmail.com

The above letter is a fictional compilation of actual emails, chats, and frantic thoughts following my latest technological blunder, for your amusement and/or co-miseration.




Find this blog post funny? Try one of my humorous novels:

Middle Eight – Purchase today as an ebook or paperback on Amazon, also at iBookstore and Barnes & Noble.

Hitchhiker – Get it at Champagne Book Group, Amazon, iTune, iBookstore, Kobo, and  Barnes & Noble. 

     In a fit of Black Friday madness, my husband and I decided to buy our two oldest boys tablets for Christmas. It’s not like they needed another screen to sit in front of, but it was a good deal. And since the salesman talked us into getting a new full-size tablet too, I could keep that and give my old Kindle to my youngest, so we’d all have one. No more fighting over the Kindle Fire. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

     And they were thrilled. Of course there would be limits. Time limits, only free, age appropriate apps would be downloaded, etc. All agreed to happily.

     Then it came time to set-up these devices. Here’s an interesting little detail - they do not come with an instruction manual, you must download it. Unfortunately, that requires turning on the Wi-Fi & connecting to a server. Which, for me, requires INSTRUCTIONS.

      Son number two tries to help. “It says you have to be connected to the Internet.”

      “I am aware. How do you connect to the Internet?”

      “Hit the cog-wheel icon.”

      “There is no cog-wheel icon.”

      Son begins to cry. “It’s broken!”

     Mother begins to swear. “It’s not broken – it’s just counter-intuitive!”

     Oldest son pipes up, cheery-like. “My Wi-Fi is connected.”

     I grab his tablet. “How’d you do that?”

     “The screen popped up.”

     More cursing. “It’s the same exact device – what did you do?”

     “I don’t know. See, now it’s asking for your credit card number.”

     Of course it is. Middle son leaves the room to sob in private.

     “I’m not giving that thing my credit card information. Just stop hitting buttons.”

     “There aren’t any buttons. It’s a tablet.”

     Mother growls.

     “Oh, look. I can download apps!” Oldest son is elated.

     “How are you doing this?”

     Son number two cries out from back room. “Mine is broken!”

     Youngest son steps up. “Mommy, you need to get your stuff off my Kindle.”

     Mother panics. “Don’t delete anything! I haven’t even taken my new one out of the package. JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE!”

     Sweaty – I’m all sweaty. Why does technology stress me out so much?

     I swipe a stray hair off the screen of the unresponsive tablet in front of me and the options menu pops up.

     “Nobody breathe! I found a menu!”

     Second son hurries out from the back room. “So it’s not broken?”

     “You’re breathing! I said no breathing!”

     “I’m sorry.”

     Jiminy Christmas, my child is now apologizing to me for breathing. I hate technology.

     Several tension-filled minutes later and manuals are downloaded. I make them read through it, let them download a few apps, and all is right with the world.  

     Son number two gives me a big hug. “Thank you, Mommy.”

     And now I feel like an ASS. “Yeah – sorry I got mad. Technology stresses me out.”

     “So, did you figure out how your new tablet works yet?’

     Damn. “Maybe tomorrow.” After a trip to the liquor store.

Apps:  pl. n. Handy little programs designed to make humans more reliant upon technology than their own brains.  (Definition provided by Sarah Conners.)

Bluetooth Headset:  n. A hands-free way to use your phone while looking way more important than you really are.

Download:  v. 1. What you spend most of your time waiting for your computer to do.
2. Installing something on your computer that may or may not screw it up.

Facebook:  n. High school.

 Going Viral:  v. Having to change your identity because you did something embarrassing that got caught on video.

 Pinterest:  n. A place to keep all the recipes and craft ideas that you’ll never have time to do because you’re too busy surfing the web for new recipes and craft ideas.

 Smart phone:  n. A really expensive way to remain tethered to the Internet (and everyone else) at all times.

 Texting:  v. 1. A longer, more tedious way of carrying on a phone conversation than actually speaking into the phone.  2. A way to carry on a phone conversation with someone else while ignoring the person sitting in front of you.

 Twitter:  n. A chance to stalk celebrities legally.

 YouTube:  n. Funniest Home Videos without the annoying celebrity host.