It was 11 p.m. on a Tuesday and life as I knew it was over.
My BlackBerry crashed. No more BlackBerry Messenger, on-the-go Facebook, no more Map apps — or any apps at all.
I went to class the next morning in hopes of distracting myself from my crumbling social life. Was there ever a time before my BlackBerry? If there was, it is all a hazy, horrifying memory of black and white, slow moving, poorly animated movies — like the ones before HDTV.
This was only the first day: 13 hours, 57 minutes and 17 seconds, give or take 30 or so seconds, into a life without social connections. Who talks to people anymore, anyway? It’s all about Twitter, Facebook, BBM, texting and blogging.
My roommate’s life had met a similar end. Her solution, however, was to start drinking, sleep through her 9 a.m. class, and hopefully numb herself through the BlackBerry blackout. It didn’t work — she drank herself into a technology-free coma. But as tempting as it was to try to join her, I couldn’t let myself lose hope. There would be BlackBerry service again one day, and I’d wait for this glorious day with anticipation and hope. Until then, maybe the lack of distractions and social life would force me to study for my next midterm.
Sitting there, I began wondering if these hopes might just be futile, considering the BlackBerry blackout had begun some fourteen hours and five minutes before; I’d had one midterm and spent the rest of my time resetting my connections to the outside world. Perhaps one day I would hit that refresh button and all would be restored.
I reflected on my fragmented social life and thought, maybe if I ask around, maybe I’d be able to find blackout survivors, those who were able to piece together their fractured lives and carry on, but until a cure is found, I would wait.