I plug my iPad into my Macbook, crossing my fingers that, this time, it will work.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing. Forehead meets keyboard. I take a deep breath and try another method. I have to get these videos off of my iPad and on to my computer. I take a look into the mystical "cloud" (what IS the cloud anyway? I'm starting to think it's just a nice idea and not a real thing). Outlook foggy. I don't see a thing. Well, scratch that. I do see a bunch of questionable selfies from 2013 (note to self: blonde isn't a good hair color), but I don't see the three videos I need.
I'm starting to think I have a rotten Apple. iCurse and iGroan and iFume. My Windows-loving husband raises his eyebrow in an "I told you so" manner as he watches me work. Click. Click. Click. I announce that I'm calling in reinforcements and pick up my iPhone (I'm nothing if not consistent in my bad choices) and dial the number for Apple Care. The automated voice kindly informs me that I can choose my hold music. I select classical. Maybe that will calm me down.
Warbly violins burble out of the phone's speaker. I still feel anxious. 5 minutes pass. Never one to have a lot of patience, I continue to clickclickclick in hopes that, this time, it will work. At 12 minutes on hold, I begin to feel despair. At 17, I'm desperate. Desperate enough to admit defeat and let my husband disconnect my iPad from its dysfunctional fruity brethren and plug it into his computer.
Unshockingly, he owns a Windows.
He sits down and grabs the mouse. Click. Click. Click. The three videos sit on the desktop, just like that.
Forehead meets palm. I sigh in relief. Just as I turn to thank him, the tinny concerto on my phone abruptly stops. "Thank you for calling Apple Care, how can I help you?"
I shake my head. It might be time for this fruitarian to diversify her technological diet.