The Red One Feels Safer

Nia: Okay, Grandpa, show me the tablet. What’s it doing?

Grandpa Earl: It’s broken. The whole thing is broken. I can’t open my photos.

Nia: It’s not broken. Just tap the little picture there. The one that looks like a flower.

Grandpa Earl: I tapped it. Nothing happened.

Nia: You have to tap it once, not press it for ten seconds. Have you tried turning it off and on again?

Grandpa Earl: Why would turning it off help? That makes no sense.

Nia: It just does, Grandpa. Trust me. Hold that button on the top.

Grandpa Earl: This one? It’s asking me something now. There are words.

Nia: Read me the words.

Grandpa Earl: “Software update. Do you want to install?”

Nia: Yes! Click yes. That’s actually the whole problem. It’s been asking you that for a year, hasn’t it?

Grandpa Earl: Maybe. I always click the red one. The red one feels safer.

Nia: Grandpa, the red one means no.

Grandpa Earl: In my day, red meant stop, and stopping kept you alive.

Nia: Just let it update. Don’t touch anything. Don’t even breathe on it.

Grandpa Earl: And then I’ll see my photos?

Nia: And then you’ll see your photos.

Grandpa Earl: You’re a clever girl. Have you eaten? Your grandmother made too much soup.

Nia: The update finishes in twenty minutes. So, yes. I’ve got time for soup.