THE IDLE AMERICAN
Commentary by Dr. Don Newbury

I’d never thought of naming my laptop. Now, I’m making a u-turn, deciding that it deserves a name: “Dolly.”

Hundreds of miles away from her for five full days, I can now warble with gusto, “Hello, Dolly. Well, hello, Dolly. It’s so good to have you back where you belong.”

Our “separation” began around 9 p.m. Aug. 31; reunion occurred when the UPS vehicle stopped at our house at 6:45 p.m. Sept. 4. (Had it been much later, the doorbell would have excited our rescue dog, Archie, and I’d have missed the spitting penalty against the tacky Philadelphia Eagle whose spittle hit Dallas quarterback Dak Prescott.)

Here’s how the day started. I watched the Texas-Ohio State football game with a longtime friend in Denver who had provided an automobile for my week-long traipsing about the Rocky Mountain area. His wife had a new vehicle, and he thought I was joking when I asked him if the high-mileage “loaner” was for sale.

He thought I was joking; I wasn’t, and at game’s end, I canceled my return plane ticket to Dallas and began my 800-mile drive back to Burleson, promising to work out payment details by phone.

Knowing our two daughters were “phone-tracking” me, I “confessed” about 100 miles toward home, promising to catch a few motel “sleep winks” near the trip’s halfway mark.

I reached Amarillo by evening, having covered some 425 miles; “hungries” were setting in. I made a Whataburger stop, salivating before chomping down on a cheesburger. While there, I’d planned to reserve a motel room online for Clarendon, about an hour’s drive away. The cheeseburger delighted my taste buds so positively that I plumb forgot to make the reservation.

Luckily, I found a room for a five-hour snooze, then confidently resumed my drive in a road-worthy 2021 vehicle, undaunted that its odometer reached 150,000 miles en route. Arriving back home around 1 p.m., I started emptying suitcases–somewhat brain-locked, but fully conscious that my laptop was missing. I was haunted by the thought of it being stolen from my car, or perhaps left at the motel.

I started making phone calls to six Amarillo-area Whataburgers, re-tracing my route. Hours flew to no avail; I held in my hand the only remaining part of “Dolly,” her power cord.

Suddenly, my brain kicked in, albeit in a clunking manner. When I stopped at the Whataburger, I removed the cord, expecting to use my laptop inside to make a motel reservation. I was so enjoying the cheeseburger that little else mattered. Consideration of making a reservation–or even returning to the car with my laptop–seemed unimportant. I had reached a state of amiable incandescence.

The day folded into night, and I was on the phone Sept. 1 with Whataburger managers. They were–to a person–cordial, sympathetic and hopeful that the machine–pictures and column data stored thereon–would show up. It was Labor Day weekend, with some managers off duty. With smiles in their voices, employees suggested that I call back the next day. One employee offered a glimmer of hope, asking me to describe my lost laptop. (I wondered, of course, if there were multiple laptops in their lost and found cubicle.)

Admitting to a plague of terminal dementia, I feverishly dialed up Whataburger unit #427. Deidra, a cheery manager, assured me that my laptop was indeed there, ready to be retrieved. I called an Amarillo friend who spent the better part of the day readying my computer for UPS.

Weary of Tuesday hamburger “app specials” in my neighborhood, I’m swearing off. Twice I’ve had “app issues.” Both times I paid full price. One was my error, but the second, an “app malfunction.” 

The manager dug in his heels with a “customer-is-always-wrong” attitude.

He could learn a valuable lesson from Deidra, a woman sincerely committed to helping an old guy who simply wanted Dolly back. No apps were involved, and am forever indebted to Whataburger and its wonderful 75 years of wonderful service and great burgers!

Dr. Newbury, a speaker in the Metroplex, may be reached at 817-447-3872; email: newbury@speakerdoc.com. Column audio version at www.speakerdoc.com.