Magic Words

Presto Chango changed nothing.

Abracadabra, Hocus Pocus, and Alakazam worked no magic on my Mac.

Apparently Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo only transformed a pumpkin to a carriage not Apple Mail from non functioning to functioning.

Although Billy Baston Shazamed himself to Captain Marvel, even that superhero’s magic word couldn’t rescue my email from Outgoing Purgatory. 

My Outgoing Email would not send, but a few magic words helped! 

Outgoing Purgatory held all my responses to important questions from my friends confirming Bunco dates (“Yes, April 10 is on my calendar, but I’ll be late.”) employers verifying beer samples (“Sure, I’ll buy Bud Lite. There’s an orange flavor?”), and advertisers offering prizes (“No, I decline the opportunity to win a bazillion dollars. Unsubscribe me now!”).

Pop up boxes informed me that “Sending the message content to the server failed”.  (No, kidding. I figured that since a dozen emails stacked up in Outgoing). The server responded “Unable to deliver. Resend adding some text.” (There’s plenty of text. Do I need a dissertation?) 

Yet Mail Connection Doctor insisted “Connection and Login succeeded.” (At least something succeeded!)

Working around a malfunctioning email, I texted friends and called employers and ignored large advertising companies. 

Then I problem solved.

I Googled “What to do when your Outgoing Email doesn’t work?” 

An Apple Support Forum suggested changing AT&T password.

(“You read that in a forum?” asked Mike. “Forums never work.”)

I found two sites claiming email remedies. One boasted “Check These 5 Email Settings Right Now.” The second offered “2 Possible Fixes for Mail SMTP Sending Errors.” Choosing the modest “2 Possible Fixes” over the “5 Email Settings Right Now” site, I proceeded. I confidently executed Step 1 of the first solution then backed away when instructed to choose an “Advanced Tab.” I have many talents. None qualified me to open ANYTHING advanced on a tech gadget. 

I viewed a YouTube video on my iPad and paused it while attempting to find a similar screen on my laptop. Nothing quite lined up. If I guessed as to which tab to open, then altered a setting, and created another password, it could be a disaster. I wouldn’t remember what I opened and altered and created. The email might not receive in addition to not send. More than likely the whole laptop would shut down, and I’d need to purchase a new computer. 

Att\esupport directed me to another website where the customer service telephone number hid. Upon calling that number a voice suggested that I logon to the website I just left and perhaps the answer would be there. Then I wouldn’t need to actually SPEAK to anyone who could help. The problem being that I don’t understand the answer that the site provided for my question. I was barely able to formulate the problem I’m experiencing INTO a question. 

After responding “I want to speak to someone” to a half dozen automated questions, I was placed on hold. During the wait I alternately prayed not to be disconnected and considered what I could say that would enlist this anonymous AT&T employee to persevere. 

Then I thought of the magic words. Not Abracadabra or Alakazam or Hocus Pocus.

My conversation with AT&T went something like this:

AT&T Person: May I have your name, address, phone number, height, weight, mother’s birthdate, favorite movie, least favorite vegetable, and answers to your seventeen secret questions?

Me: (After providing the information and responding to the hyphenated text message sent to my iPhone.) Before we start, to whom am I speaking?

AT&T Person: Mark

Me: Good morning, Mark. How old are you?

Mark the AT&T Person: Twenty-one.

Me: (Uttering the magic words) Mark, I want you to speak to me like I’m your mother. (After considering HIS age and MY age, I amended.) Better yet, speak to me like I’m your grandmother. Speak slowly and simply. I’d really appreciate it.

Mark the AT&T Person: Yes, Ma’am, I will.

Then, Mark listened as I explained my email problem, talked me through a series of solutions and consulted a specialist. If I had asked Mark to drive to my home and peer over my shoulder as I stumbled through his instructions, I believe he would have. 

After forty-five minutes and changing my AT&T password, the stacked Outgoing Mail zoomed to their destinations. 

Me: You’ve been helpful, Mark. Hug your grandma when you see her.

Mark: I live with my grandma. She raised me. I’ll hug her tonight like I always do.

I ended our conversation with the magic words we all learn as children, but sometimes forget as frustrated adults.

Me: Thank you, Mark.