Accept the Help, Avoid the Storm

It’s rare that I ask for help. If a convenience is opposed to my current feelings or state of mind, I will not take advantage of it. This propensity failed me last week. A mix of overwhelm and overstimulation led me to make a poor choice. I couldn’t get my brain to reevaluate and avoid an unfortunate and mildly stressful situation.

I had the pleasure of attending my sorority’s 57^th National Convention in Washington D.C. At every convention, shuttle buses transport members between their hotels and the convention center. A few decades ago, when I attended as a guest, the shuttles were a bit chaotic. That memory pushed me to avoid them since becoming a member. I didn’t use them in Indianapolis two years ago. I’ll walk anywhere, even in the summertime.

With 18,000+ members present, it is a Herculean task for us to enter and exit the same space. Getting into and out of the main hall overwhelmed and overstimulated me. I couldn’t risk the shuttle experience of yesteryear once I was free of the crowd. Riding up the escalator to street level, I noticed the sky didn’t look good, menacing even. “Oh well” I thought, I could probably make it back to the hotel before it started raining.

My mother tried to convince me that the shuttle was fine, having ridden it the day before. I wasn’t hearing it; I needed space and air. With her umbrella in hand, I turned in the opposite direction when she and our roommate headed to the bus. Earlier that afternoon we walked over from our hotel and through the main entrance. The shuttle area is on a different side. A bit turned around, I opened Google Maps to guide me back to the hotel.

No sooner than I stepped out from under the convention center overhang and to the intersection, the clouds opened and dropped buckets of rain. Heavy rain doesn’t bother me but when I crossed the street and had to take shelter under a hotel awning, I should have gone right back across the street. The wind brought the rain in sideways and blew out a woman’s umbrella.

Turning back didn’t cross my mind, and I don’t know why. I continued down the street to the next intersection. Before I made it, my umbrella blew out. I held the handle and shade in a failed attempt to keep some part of me dry. Meanwhile, my bag was open, my heels and water bottle obstructing the zipper. As I retrace my steps, I now know that I crossed through Samuel Gompers Memorial Park. I wove through stopped cars at the Massachusetts Avenue and L Street double intersection. 

I took refuge for a few minutes under the doorway of G.O.A.T. Room. By then I was soaked from the top of my head to my undergarments. I couldn’t dry my phone, and the wet screen had a mind of its own. Finally, it cooperated enough to show that continuing on 11^th Street, I would reach H Street and my hotel. After a large clap of thunder, I ducked out of the entrance, back up the steps, and down the street. The direction of the rain became irrelevant, trying to see and read the street signs was my focus.

At K Street, I realized the intersections were flooding. I stepped down carefully to avoid tripping and falling in the rush of water. I couldn’t be wet and further bruise my ego. The true challenge was getting back up onto the sidewalk against the current. I was grateful to see I Street, but it ran alongside the hardest part, New York Avenue. The two streets made three crossings. Each flooded, pushing my foot through the front of my sandal. The last one tried to snatch said sandal. “Oh no!” I scooped it up, threw it on the sidewalk, and slide my foot back in. 

I marched down the home stretch to H Street, crossed the final intersection, and into the Grand Hyatt’s covered entrance. Soaked and annoyed, I slapped my way across the atrium lobby to the elevators. A soror took one look at me, said she was sorry, heard my plight, and told me to go get dry as I got off at my floor. She was smart and left early, avoiding the weather. I could have avoided it too if I got on the shuttle. My mother was relieved to find me back in our room, she was under the impression I might have been in a tree.

Navigating D.C. streets in a mini monsoon, hair drenched, mascara running wasn’t the problem. The problem came when I wiped off and plugged in my phone: “LIQUID DETECTED – Charging is not available because liquid has been detected in the Lightning connector. Disconnect to allow the connector to dry.” Still delirious and stuck in a wet dress, I tried to dry it in all the wrong ways and kept trying to charge it. Eventually, the warning noted that drying may take several hours. Fine, I let it sit.

I didn’t look up the warning, add to my list of errors. My phone dried but it also went into the restart loop. It would work for a few minutes and then reboot. I made the dubious decision to wait until Friday, when my morning was free, to see about a replacement. I let my phone rest most of Thursday, it turned off that evening right before I went to sleep. I did have the forethought to write down the family account password and pin. I woke up to a green screen. Good grief. 

As someone who wasn’t interested in another subscription in the form of iCloud, this was terrifying. I bounced between Apple, Verizon, and back to Apple trying to get a functional phone and my precious data off the old one. The latter was to no avail. Water was found inside and Apple won’t touch a phone after that. Currently, my old phone is sitting in rice on my altar.

I’ve decided that it will dry enough to retrieve what I need off it. Seven years of video and photos and my non-iCloud notes. Memories with my friends, family, pole community, Mickey Mouse and Beyoncé are on there. I type out my little thoughts on a regular basis. I am going to get them back. Once I do, I’ll turn the phone in and go on with my life. This could have been avoided, if I got on the shuttle. The lesson: take the help when it is readily available.