Okay, let me tell you what happened the other day. It’s one of those stories that feels dumb now, but man, I was properly freaking out at the time. It’s all about this old hard drive, one I mentally nicknamed ‘Steve’.
See, my mate Steve, years ago, helped me set up this external drive. We loaded it with tons of photos, old project files from college, just heaps of memories. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a standard black box, but it held a lot of stuff that mattered, you know? Stuff linked to good times, stuff linked to Steve himself, who moved away ages ago. We kinda lost touch, so this drive felt like a bit of a connection.
Anyway, I hadn’t plugged ‘Steve’ in for maybe five years? It was tucked away in a box in the spare room. I finally decided, right, today’s the day. Going to sort through this, back it up somewhere safer. So, I dug out the box, pulled out the drive, feeling quite pleased with myself for actually getting around to it.
The moment it all went wrong
I brought it downstairs, planning to hook it up to my main computer. Placed it on the kitchen counter while I went to grab the right cable from my office drawer. Then the phone rang. It was one of those calls, you know, dragged on a bit. After hanging up, I pottered around, made a coffee, completely forgot about the drive for a minute.
When I remembered and went back to the counter… nothing. It wasn’t there. Just gone. My coffee cup was there, the mail I’d brought in was there, but no ‘Steve’.
Okay, deep breaths. I checked the counter again, moved things around. Nope. Checked the floor around the counter. Nothing. My brain started going a bit fuzzy. Where could it possibly be?
The big frantic search
This is where things got a bit messy. I started searching properly.
- Checked all the kitchen counters again, top and bottom shelves of the cupboards nearby.
- Went through the mail pile piece by piece.
- Looked inside the bread bin (don’t ask why).
- Checked the living room, thinking maybe I’d wandered in there during the call. Searched the sofa cushions, under the chairs.
- Went back upstairs to the spare room, thinking maybe I’d absent-mindedly put it back in the box? Nope.
- Checked my office desk, drawers, even the waste paper bin, heart sinking a bit lower with each empty spot.
I was getting properly agitated now. This was Steve! Well, the drive. But it felt like losing those memories, that connection. I started retracing my exact steps from the spare room downstairs. Walked it slowly, looking everywhere. Still nothing. I even checked my coat pockets hanging by the door.
An hour passed. I felt like an idiot. How do you just lose a hard drive inside your own house? I started picturing it somehow falling into the main rubbish bin and being taken out. Proper panic started bubbling up.
And the winner for stupidest hiding place is…
I decided to make another coffee, maybe caffeine would help. Opened the cupboard to get the cereal. And there it was. Sitting inside the open box of cornflakes.
I must have picked it up subconsciously while on the phone, maybe thinking about breakfast or something, and just… put it in the cereal box. Stood there staring at it for a good ten seconds. The relief was huge, quickly followed by feeling like a complete numpty.
So yeah. ‘Steve’ was found, safe and sound, nestled amongst the cornflakes. The memories are safe. I finally got it plugged in and started backing things up immediately, believe me. Lesson learned? Maybe don’t handle important memory drives while distracted. And always check the cereal boxes if something goes missing in my house, I guess.
