By Richard Coca
Have you ever found yourself missing someone so much that you instantly decide to never take them for granted again? Have you ever found yourself crying because you lost someone who played such a large role in your life? If so, then you might know how it feels to have lost your AirPods.
For those of you who don’t know me personally, simply know that my AirPods have slowly grown on me. They have integrated themselves into my life as a personality trait and as the deliverers of the soundtrack to my life. You can then image the feeling of despair that overcame me when I lost the case.
I would later find my AirPod case a day later at Meyer Green, perfectly in place, but that’s another story. The following is an account of a day without AirPods:
I wake up, and my usual optimism is quickly lessened by the fact that I lost my AirPod case the day earlier, which means that my AirPods are dead. I walk down the stairs to the dining hall, where I go to have breakfast — a feat that in itself would warrant celebration — yet I can’t shake the tragedy of my dead AirPods.
During breakfast, at a mostly empty table, I grab a copy of The Daily. Usually, I’d be listening to music while skimming headlines, but without my AirPods, I come to realize that I’m vulnerable. No one at the table stirs up conversation. Everyone either makes really tiny small talk or scrolls through their phone. I can’t be any different, I think to myself. Usually, I’d have my AirPods to silence the little voice in my head that asks me why I’m so awkward.
After finishing breakfast, I see a Twitter notification from the Grind’s very own previous managing editor, Jackie O’Neil ‘21. After seeing my distressed tweet about having dead AirPods, she offers to lend me her charging case to bring life back to my world.
On my way to meet Jackie, I realize I’ll have to navigate a world without my dearest friends. I knew there was no way I could walk all the way to Old Union without my AirPods. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to listen to the soundtrack of my life, or — even worse — someone might try to initiate conversation with me. I stood there with a decision to make. I could wear wires again or I could walk to Old Union with naked ears. Naturally, I do what any sane person would do and wear dead bodies inside my ears. In other words, I listen to no music with my dead AirPods plugged in.
Once I borrow Jackie’s charger, I go back to my dorm where I watch Netflix rather than study for the finals I had coming up. (This decision would later come to haunt me, but my GPA was simply collateral damage from the fact that I couldn’t study for Math 51 without listening to my “do your work, idiot” playlist on my AirPods).
After lunch plus some, I end up going to Meyer Green where I decide to take a nap out on the lawn. I realize my AirPods are fully charged and I listen to their sweet voices sing me a lullaby as I fall asleep.
For the rest of my day, my AirPods had life in them thanks to Jackie. Three hours later, I would post a desperate plea on the “Stanford Free and For Sale” Facebook page asking if anyone had seen my AirPod case. A kind stranger would direct message and tell me he saw it at Meyer Green, where I had just been three hours before, and where I had also been the day before, and practically the whole week. It was there that I found my AirPod case and there that I lost my dignity.
Contact Richard Coca at richcoca ‘at’ stanford.edu.