How I Busted Out of Adoptee Brain and Made $250

I know when Quentin Tarentino’s movie Once Upon a Time in Hollywood came out because it was the week I fried my computer. The movie was released July 26, but I went a few days later, during a heat wave in August. I had a new water bottle in my backpack along with my computer, and I hadn’t yet learned that the cap on this bottle required a little muscle to get it screwed tightly closed.

I walked out of the movie because I could feel the violence coming, and while I had thought I could handle some Tarantino gore when I bought my ticket, I changed my mind as the Sharon Tate character walked lightly through the shot, sunshine hair and leggy body, and I realized I had paid to watch people suffer and so I stood up to go, picked up my backpack, and wondered why it was so wet.

The people at the computer repair store told me I should not have tried to turn on the computer. They told me, if you want to create damage and rust, turn on a wet computer. The thing was, my computer had turned on much to my stunned delight as I stood outside of the theater and assessed the damage. But then it turned off. And then it turned on. But then it turned off. So I kept trying, and, as I learned later, I kept frying the mother board.

Or whatever that thing is called that got wet and was such a sissy about it.

I want to tell you something: I use my computer a lot. It’s the thing I wrote You Don’t Look Adopted On. It’s the thing I wrote Phantom Halo with Antonia. It’s the thing I use to write blog posts. It’s my pen and paper, and then, for three months, it was in the slammer, getting dried out by a bunch of people who didn’t give a shit about time.

When you are told, maybe in a week, maybe in a week, maybe in a week, it’s amazing how quickly weeks turn to months.

I tried to write using my iPad, but it was slow going. It was like trying to run laps around a button. I did it, but it didn’t feel right. I tried to write blog posts, but the formatting was different on the iPad and I couldn’t get the the pictures above the text. It’s funny how small things can drive you insane. Well, what I mean is it’s funny to me how small things drive YOU insane, but it’s not at all funny when it comes to me. I like to relax, and without my computer, I fake relaxed around my writing. I kept working on my next book, sort of, like a bird might continue to peck at a tree long after he’s realized there’s no bug inside, just out of the habit of banging beak against wood.

The other day on Facebook, an adopted person wrote that maybe no one but another adoptee would understand the magnitude of her act, but that she had thrown away the trash leftover from her lunch instead of chucking it into the back of her car as was her habit.

When you are walking down the street and you see that your shoelace is untied, you stop to tie it because you don’t want to trip and fall and hurt yourself. When you blow out the candles on your birthday cake, you hold back your hair if it is long so it doesn’t catch on fire. When you go on a date and the man reaches for your hand, you pull it away if you have decided you don’t want him to touch you.

You do these things because you understand you have value. You are protecting yourself because you understand you are worth protecting.

When a child has been traumatized, there is a good chance his sense of value has plummeted like a busted can of soup at the market. When something is busted, there is a good chance it is headed for the garbage even if it once was incredibly valuable. Toy Story made millions of dollars on this concept.

When your own value has plummeted, it’s often hard to find the energy to do things other people might do without thinking: put your trash in the garbage instead of in the back of your car; tie your shoelaces when they come undone; refuse to pay for shitty service.

I called the computer store many times. Sometimes the phone would just ring and ring. Sometimes I would get an answer and be told the same thing: they were waiting for parts. I stopped by twice. I was told they were still waiting for parts. When I finally got an email message telling me the computer was ready to pick up, I headed for the store that Sunday, on a bus, in the rain, and when I got there I found a piece of paper taped to the door saying the new winter hours had taken effect and they were now closed on Sundays and Mondays.

On Tuesday I went back. It was so strange to see my computer again. I forgot I had the Santa Cruz sticker on it and the sticker that said Boston girls doing whatever they fuck they want. The man who helped me was sweet. I’d paid $200 when I dropped off the computer, and as I handed over my debit card to pay for the remaining $250 balance, I told the man I was going to feel really bad if he charged me full price.

I asked him to look at the repair history. He did, grimaced, and said, None of the people who helped you are here anymore. I said it must be hard for him to work there. He turned away to make a face, and I asked him if we were on camera. He nodded. Okay, I said, I get it. He whispered, Let’s just say my resume is out there.

He typed notes into his computer. I can give you $30 off, he said. I breathed and remembered the coaching my friend had given me (be nice, and then pull out the bigger guns). Can you tell me how I can write a yelp review that won’t damage this business? I asked. He typed some more. Fifty dollars off, he said. He gave me the name of his manager and the owner of the business and told me I could try to get the charges reversed by emailing them.

I liked the guy. He was trying. I took my beloved, dried-out computer to the nearest coffee shop and sent off my email asking the boss and the manager if, after looking at the repair history of my computer, they could possibly write a Yelp review they would want to have. I told them I was happy to pay for parts, but that charging me $250 for labor for a job that really should have taken 1-2 weeks was not responsibe, and I would feel morally obligated to warn other people about this company.

Thirty minutes later, the charges on my card had been reversed.

A year ago, I would not have worked that hard to get what I thought I deserved. Part of writing my book about how if feels to be relinquished and adopted was that I also started to pay attention to the ways, small and large, I threw myself away. When people throw parts of themselves away, they affect those around them. They cost other people many things, including money. When I was younger and I threw away my college education by dropping out mid-semester, I wasted more than just my time. I wasted my parents’ money and the school’s commitment to me.

Getting adopted people to realize their worth therefore is a worthy community project. If one of us values ourselves more, the value of a group as a whole goes up.

As my friend Pam Cordano said, Oscar the Grouch was grouch for a reason. The dude lived in a garbage can. (Although that is in quotes, I’m not sure those were her exact words. Ask her when you see her.)

People are not garbage, even though they might feel that way because their mother could not keep them. Some mothers leave their children in garbage cans, it is true, but that is not the child’s fault. I could throw away a diamond ring and it’s still a diamond ring, even if it has a banana peel stuck to it.

God is in the details.

Take care of the details of your life, and see what happens.