Maybe I’m an introvert because if I lock myself away from the world in the safety of The House on the Hill’s Basement Bunker, I won’t have to deal with loss.
But I assure you that even the steel reinforced concrete walls of my bunker cannot prevent the Angel of Death from darkening my door.
Thursday night, it came for my Fitbit.
It was sudden and unexpected. Death seems to prefer working that way. I charged my device during dinner, put it on, and prepared to go for a quick walk. As I headed out the door, I checked my trusty wrist companion for my step total.
The screen was black.
Mind you, I’d just charged it and all had been well mere moments earlier.
Like a lunatic, I checked it a million times. When it never lit up, I finally got it through my thick skull that attempt number one million and one wasn’t going to change the outcome.
I calmly called Fitbit Customer Service even though I was freaking out inside. Change isn’t good. Change is bad. No Fitbit means I can’t track my steps. If I can’t track my steps, I’ll stop running, put on a massive amount of weight, and die in my sleep of a heart attack.
Yes, Modern Philosophers, I spiral down the rabbit hole faster than the Flash can sprint around the world.
Loss will do that to you.
Of course, Customer Service’s best advice was to plug it in and charge it, put rubbing alcohol on the connectors, and push two buttons for eternity or until the device lit up again (whichever came first).
Denial is a very important part of dealing with loss. It took me a while, but I finally got the Fitbit Customer Service Rep to accept that my device was dead. I could hear him crying as he processed the fact, and I just allowed him to let it out. If he doesn’t mourn, he’s never going to be able to move forward.
We finally got to the part where he confirmed that my Deadbit was still under warranty, and that a replacement one would be sent. But first, I had to answer several trivia questions correctly, write a 2000 word essay on the effect of electronics on modern wellness, and then complete the talent part of the warranty process.
Once that was all done, and after he had me try one more time to “shake it really hard and scream its name at the top of your lungs!”, he finally relented and sent me the link necessary for me to get my new Fitbit.
Of course, one has to wonder why fitness trackers can’t be built to last longer. I’d rather pay a little extra and know I’m getting a product that’s going to last longer than it would take me to complete a marathon.
After all, having to go 5-7 business days with my Fitbit is going to freak me the hell out. I’ve gotten used to having that thing on my wrist. The only pace we don’t go together is the shower, so we’ve really bonded.
I feel like I need to go Full Dalek and demand that the creator of my flawed device be exterminated.
Other than that, I’m handling the death of my Fitbit fairly well. I still went for a long run this morning, and then took a walk to the library. I might not be able to track every last step I take, but I’ve heard a rumor that the physical activity is still good for me even though technology isn’t precisely monitoring its effect on me.
Life is short. Tell your Fitbit what it means to you before it’s too late…