Based on a true story.

So yeah, late the other night, I’m hammering away at some bullshit on my computer. Just as I get up to rest my weary bones, from my kitchen emanates an alarmingly sudden “droooooooid.” What the crap? Did my phone just update? So I go out there, take a look. Phone is restarting. Weird. So I let it do its thing.

“Drooooooid.”

The screen flickers a moment… and then returns to the start-up sequence again.

“Drooooooid.”

That happens another — if I’m remembering correctly — 4000 times as I fail to address the problem. Or diagnose the problem. Or even comprehend the problem on the most basic, chimp-like level. My phone was just locked in a cycle of stating it’s name, over and over, like foreign spies were trying to interrogate it. (In fairness, I was pretty desperate to get some personal information out of the thing, so perhaps this was not wholly unjustified.) After doing enough swearing to assure myself a place next to Judas in the 7th circle, I expunge the battery from its metal carapace with all the gentile nature of the Manson Family. Blissful silence. I go to bed.

In the morning, the battery is returned to its Place of Power, and I start up the device. Boots normally. Swell. But something is awry. None of my settings are in place. All my widgets are missing. Cold sweat sets in as I go to check my contact info for Everything and Everyone I Know in the World.

Apparently my phone stores all its contact data in something volatile. No power, no data.

Shit.

Lousy technology, don’t you know my brain is squishy and fallible? How am I supposed to remember a phone number? It’s, like, seven digits long! Seven!

The moral of the story, here, is not that one should backup one’s data. No. It’s that technology is a jerk, and the future can go fuck itself.