Michael D. Davis

My father would be explainin’ the inner workings of the camshaft as I glanced at all of the tubes and wires, the slabs of metal, and pools of multicolored liquid that made up the inner workings of the car. The old man would go on for a while and then ask me if I understood.

I’d look at him, then the engine, before ultimately fakin’ an asthma attack so I could go watch cartoons. In other words, yeah, I can look under the hood, but there’s really no point.

Ya see, I know my limitations. There are just some things that I will never learn. It’s not for lack of tryin’, it’s just because my head ain’t built for it. For example, Spanish. Back in school, I took at least two Spanish classes, and I walked out still not knowin’ leche from la Biblioteca. It wouldn’t absorb.

Same thing happened when my Father tried to teach me this and that on fixin’ stuff. I just don’t get it. It didn’t land.

Granted, I wasn’t that interested in learnin’ Spanish, and I was equally not interested in learnin’ why the mower didn’t start. So, that could have somethin’ to do with it.

My Father would often try to teach me to fix stuff or have me come “help” him when he was doin’ somethin’. This never worked out. His patience would run out often before I learned anythin’.

I’d be holdin’ the flashlight or in charge of the toolbox as he swore and tried to explain what was wrong with the sink. He’d be flat on his back in the bathroom then put out his hand and say, “I need a flat head.”

I’d just say, “Ya already got one, but your hat covers it.” This would lead to a couple of swear words and a partial butt chewin’. I didn’t learn nothin’, but a few new expletives. But it’s not my fault. His lessons to me were half boring, half punishment, and he always teed me up for a joke by sayin’ somethin’ like, “This pipe has a rusty nipple.”

Bad thing is my sister is the same way, if not worse. Her specialty is technology. Computers, tablets, phones, whatever, she deals with it. I may be the younger sibling, but when it comes to computers, all I do is Google and type.

I use technology as minimally as I can in my art. I use pens, pencils, paint, and paper, not pixels. For example, the Local Lunacy I do every week. I draw it out on a piece of paper, scan it into the computer, darken it, and type the caption. That’s it. I wouldn’t even do the caption thing, but frankly, my handwriting is horrible.

Alright, let’s talk about last week. I was in a group chat with my paper brethren, and they texted again, and again, and again. Which isn’t a bad thing, we were havin’ a conversation, but my phone throws up an error message. An error message for every text I receive from them.

This happens about once a day. I have to wait 20 minutes to half an hour then download every individual text they sent and read back through what they said. I’ve had this phone for three years, and it’s had this problem for about three years.

Finally, I got fed up, I ordered a new phone. It arrived on Friday. Six hours it took me to activate it plus transfer all the stuff from the old phone. After those six hours, I realized the new phone simply also had a problem.

It didn’t send or receive any multimedia messages of any kind. I contacted a robot at the phone company about my problem, but Skynet just kept repeating its answers, at one point even deciding to answer in Spanish, which really threw me for a loop..

Eventually, I pulled the ripcord and went to my sister. I fell at her feet with my problems hoping she’d take pity on me. She took my phone and spent the whole weekend working on it.

She ran diagnostics and tried new apps. She tried tips and tricks, cleared cache, and updated settings. She also spent nearly ten anger-filled hours talking with the phone company. At one point during the weekend, she was so frustrated and resentful of me getting her into this situation that she gave me a glare that would have shriveled Hitler’s glands.

After a weekend filled with work on the phone, work that she tried to explain to me, but again went right over my head; I finally have my phone. It’s my old phone, still with the original problem, but well…yeah.

I could try to fix the old phone. Pop the hood, see what’s happenin’ under there, but yet again, there’s really no point.