And the Teardrop Award goes to...

Me.

My digital camera broke yesterday. I turned it on, the lens came halfway out, and jammed. The screen read "lens error!" and no amount of turning it on or off would fix it. What luck, O-Fortuna-velut-luna-statu-variabilis, why me, etc. But it's okay, because it's just a thing-- right?

NO. Do you remember in M*A*S*H: The Movie when Capt. "Hawkeye" Pierce sees the Korean woman suffocate her own crying baby to keep their presence unknown to enemies, and then he totally represses the event and insists that the woman just killed a chicken? Well, my camera didn't "just break." What I typed above was just the lie I told the Nikon customer service representative in order to take advantage of the warranty. The truth is, I broke it.

I was sitting there in my shitty IKEA chair eating my Thanksgiving pizza watching "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" and as I reached for my cranberry martini, I knocked my camera onto the hardwood floor-- lens first. I tried to turn it off to retract the lens and it just made a little whiny noise and didn't move. The screen read "lens error!" I tapped the lens against the arm of my chair to perhaps nudge it in the right direction, and the lens cap and shutters flew off leaving a little spring the diameter of an eyelash stuck to the sleeve of my robe. I started to sob. Uncontrollably, body-wrackingly, pathetically sob. Think Arty Aquatard when that idiot robber shot his dog, Scrilla Bones. Hiccups, snot, wails of anguish-- the works. I even called my mother.

Not only had I carelessly left the camera on in the first place, lens extended, but I had knocked if off the table AND destroyed it further by stupidly trying to force it back into position. And it was Thanksgiving! And I was eating pizza in front of the television. ALONE! I had tried to be a really good sport about it all day long, and my camera had helped me by allowing me to document and reflect upon the gorgeous weather and verdant scenes of the day. And I BROKE it!

After I calmed down, I somehow managed to locate the original sales receipt and assessed my options. I couldn't really bring it back to Staples after I'd so confidently refused their Product Replacement Plan, concurrently dashing the salesperson's hopes of an extra few bucks on his paycheck [I was once a cashier at Staples and am familiar with their reward system]. I considered trying my luck anyway, offering to purchase a replacement plan right then and there, perhaps while wearing a revealing V-necked item or heels-- or both. But no, tomorrow was Black Friday and employees would be their most disgruntled. And besides, Staples employees aren't capable of achieving erections let alone of being motivated by them.

So instead I fixed the shutter mechanism by fitting that tiny spring back into place, snapping a thin metal plate back on, and screwing the cap back into position. At least it didn't look like I'd completely savaged the thing anymore. Then I lied to the Nikon customer service representative. He was very casual, pleasant, helpful, forthcoming, and said if I sent it to the following address that it would be repaired under warranty. I hope everyone at Nikon is as drugged down as this guy was, because I sent it off this morning with a little note, some bubble wrap, and the receipt.

I still feel pretty bad, but I'm trying to remain optimistic. And it really is just a thing, I suppose...