Paul McAleer


Paul McAleer

I got on the train this morning, sat down, and debated whether to take my jacket off or not. I reached down and pulled my iPad out of my bag and placed it on the seat next to me while I got my iPod and headphones out of my pocket. A moment later I heard a big THUD, as if a revolutionary, magical 1.5 pound mobile device had just fallen to the floor.

I looked on the seat and the iPad was indeed gone. The train car I’m on is one of Metra’s 50-year-old ones (no exaggeration) and the seats on these cars have small slots at the bases of their backs, which I didn’t know until today. And they’re angled.

The iPad thus was deposited onto the floor behind me rather unceremoniously. The gentleman in the seat behind me handed it over. “Thanks. I guess we’ll test it’s durability!” I said. “The hard way,” he correctly added.

And the iPad is totally fine. There’s not a (new) scratch nor dent on it. I was concerned it would begin to sing “A Bicycle Built for Two” but so far, it hasn’t.

In other words, WHEW.