The embarrassment: forgetting your laptop when you go to work

“It happened”

“It happened” I exclaimed. I shook everything a bit from left to right in my work bag, but from the shape I could already tell and by the weight I felt it. I arrived right on time (that at least) at the editorial office WITHOUT a laptop. Forgotten. I had May's Monti diaper bag with me, my sports bag was hanging over my right shoulder, and in my hand dangled a leather shopper that was missing an essential part. How on earth can you forget your laptop? Oelewapper, Dumbo the elephant, little loser.

Going to work as a writer without a laptop is, to say the least, clumsy. It's like a chef without a pan, a bus driver without a bus, a mountaineer without a mountain, or a lion tamer without a lion. You're missing something. By the way, I did have some foresight because I still hear myself telling May that I would forget it one day. She looked at me as if she had to rearrange my brain.

And honestly, I only write by hand for shopping lists, my to-dos, and on post-its. Here and there a card, because it feels a bit more real, but the last time I wrote more than two hundred words by hand was during my final exam in Dutch. And that was almost historically long ago. So I did the walk of shame to our Lianne, to see if she perhaps had a spare for me. It was like a sort of twelve steps, that forgotten laptop.

1. The shock. The idea that you are in the circus ring in front of an audience and you have forgotten the lion. It's almost a bit like dreaming that you are going to work and you forgot to get dressed.

2. The denial. It can't be, it can't be, it can't be. It must have shrunk, smaller than normal, is in a compartment where it doesn't fit.

3. The astonishment. “It happened,” were my legendary words.

4. The giggling. Silly things you have to laugh off. You understand: I had to chuckle all day, the embarrassment was that great.

5. The acceptance. Okay, not even in my lipstick pocket, I forgot my laptop. I forgot my laptop. It's okay. It can happen.

6. The shame. My goodness: I FORGOT my laptop. Goodness, what a loser. And then the intensely diligent intern asks if she can perhaps help you. Shame everywhere. I want to blush in a corner.

7. The solution. Either spend an hour driving home and back or a loaner. I go for the loaner. That means a huge walk of shame and even more people knowing that I forgot my laptop.

8. The fumbling. That laptop is nice, but not mine. Everything is different. As if someone puts the coffee back in the wrong cupboard, as if the small forks are with the large forks. The memory is suddenly full too, but you keep trying anyway. You know that bottle of diet cola doesn't fit in the fridge door, but you still push a little extra. You realize that you know zero passwords of your own. So you have to go back to the computer guy to have things adjusted and as a result, nothing works on your phone anymore.

9. Angry, very angry. Because suddenly the thing shuts down. Of course, it’s not because I pressed something. And that is exactly at the moment when we want to quickly post the new trailer for Mamma Mia! The photo is untraceable, the email isn't working. I say ugly words out loud, people raise their eyebrows.

10. The frustration. I. Want. My. Own. Laptop.

11. The doubt. Should I just go home? Come on, you only have two more hours. You can do this. Do it. Don't be dramatic.

12. The reunion. Honestly? When I got home and saw it lying on the table, I stroked the top for a moment. I was so happy.