Until something goes wrong.
Thankfully, the issue at hand was nothing disastrous. Not in the grand scheme of things. But it posed something of a quandary to me, living on a ship off the coast of Liberia.
My MacBook has been my trusty companion these many months past. I use it for everything from music to photo editing to writing this blog. About a week ago, I was happily employed, in the throes of my latest creative urges, when I felt my leg getting warmer and warmer. I looked down and noticed that my power cord was resting against my calf and that it was heating up by the second.
I traced the cord back up to where it plugs into the computer, nearly burning my fingers in the process, to see this. Melted plastic, exposed wires and a fire hazard if I've ever seen one. I unplugged and spent the remainder of my battery power researching the problem.It turns out that lots of Mac cords suffer from this haphazard suicide. So many, in fact, that they promise you a new one when it happens. No questions asked. All you have to do is bring the melted specimen in to your nearest, friendly Apple store.
Which would be a simple task, if the nearest Apple store weren't 4,500 miles away, as close as i can figure.
It's the little things that remind me just how good I've got it. I got on one of the computers on the ship, fired off some photos to my dad in New Jersey who, in turn, brought them to that aforementioned friendly Apple store. The manager, Ross, took one look at the picture and produced a spanking-new cord, which my parents will send to me, hopefully in a box that also contains some Twizzlers. (Let's face it- it's been a while since I've had those, and a girl's gotta get her fix somehow.)
Thanks, Ross. My sad, silent MacBook will soon come back to life, and you saved me trying to coerce some poor soul into carrying the melted remains of my power cord back to the States.
I just wish it didn't hit me like a sucker punch in the gut every time, this realization that I'm so far from home.
