Google

Are you there Google? It's me, Hannah. 

The other day I needed to send an e-mail. I was in the drive thru line at Starbucks (don't judge, or do, just do it silently) and I needed to let my preschool know I was going to be late (I was trying to figure out a better excuse than "I'm in line at Starbucks"). I belong to one of those hippie style cooperative schools (that has only one real hippie I can think of) so all of the parents teach and when you send an e-mail you send it to the whole group (we're very democratic that way). So since I had just gotten gmail on my phone I didn't really know what I was doing. I didn't know, for instance, that you should not try to send your first e-mail from your phone while waiting in line at Starbucks (someone might die). Seriously. First, I tried to sign in. Actually, no, I did sign in. To my own e-mail account. Mine. Google did not accept this. Since I had a new device I needed to verify my account. Okay, fine. We all know what happened to poor Jennifer Lawrence this month. Hackers are everywhere, and if Google wants to make sure no one is trying to get a hold of my preschool schedule to splash all over the internet, then who am I to stop them? So I had three options. I chose the first, which involves Google sending me a code to my phone that I then enter into the appropriate box. Then TA-DA! (as my toddler likes to say) I'm in like Flynn (or Finn. Whatever.) 

Only, not so much. I read the code, I copied the code. I pasted the code. And. Google. Didn't. Like. It. They rejected me. Or the code. But it felt like a very personal rejection. How could you do this to me Google? It's ME!! At this point I realized that trying to hold your phone and your coffee and your croissant at the same time (again, silent judging only) is really difficult. So I threw my phone in my bag and just forgot about it. Until, in the middle of class, my phone starts dinging. I read the text. It is a mix between an announcement of the apocalypse and a letter from a superhero. Basically Google wanted to save me from the evil hackers that would completely undo my life if they were allowed to break in to my account. I sighed. I couldn't respond to the text and say "IT'S ME GOOGLE! Really! For the love of God!" Then my husband called me. Panicked. "Did you know someone is trying to hack your account? I just got a text from Google." So, Google can text my husband??? Google is a drama queen.  "It's just me, I just suck at technology," I told him. I know he agrees with this assessment of my technological skill (I still use a paper calendar), but he was nice enough not to say anything. 

When I got home I had a warning from Google. It alerted me that some evil minion was trying to break into my account. And then, right at the top there was a box you could check. It asked "IS THIS YOU?" Um, jeez Google, yes it's me, I've been trying to tell you that ALL DAY, you just don't listen very well. Seriously, having an account with Google is like having a junior high school boyfriend. Do you like me Google? Check yes or no. Or just let me check my freaking e-mail.