Kimberlee K.

Hello.

My name is Kimberlee, but since I’m about to get personal and a little pathetic, please feel free to refer to me as “Kim” when you share this letter around the office. You see, I have a situation. It’s completely ridiculous, and drastically unimportant compared to other issues plaguing our society, nonetheless, here I am writing you this letter, so please read on.

In December of 2012, I received an iPod for Christmas. But this was no ordinary iPod. It was the 5^th generation 160GB iPod classic a.k.a the prime rib of all iPods.

Some techies may disagree, some millennials may call me crazy, but I will unabashedly admit that this iPod—alongside Hamilton, the Harry Potter films, and Cinnamon Bun Oreos—is one of the 21^st century’s greatest works.

Personally, my iPod and I have had a very fruitful relationship. Some onlookers say we “really get each other” and are a “match made in heaven,” and hard-hitting social media players might describe us as #goals. That being said, I’ve recently diagnosed my iPod with old age. While continuing to shuffle over 9,000 songs (and counting), my iPod has begun to skip and take unwarranted pauses. Its charging capacity has also plummeted at an alarming rate. As you can imagine, this has taken quite a toll on both of us, as we both know what lies ahead but are not ready admit it verbally.

Now, I understand why you discontinued this model. I understand that it became a high school diploma in a market constantly demanding PhDs. You needed to expand, to innovate, to create a middle finger emoji for all skin colors, and I respect that. However, I come to you now, in my time of need. For my dear friend is on his last legs and I fear my life with another will be drastically sub-par. Even in the company of others capable of doing things he could never dream of, I remain confident I will not find another iPod of his caliber. With his memory capacity, his age-old reliability, and—by today’s standards—his taboo buttons, I know exactly what I can expect from my iPod, and that is nothing short of resilience.

Thus, I come to you, inventors of handheld devices, producers of countless foot tapping commercials, innovators in the fields we don’t even realize we want to frolic through, and I write you this letter on the 16^th birthday of the original iPod, wondering if there is any chance at all that you have another model of my iPod somewhere in your collective attic. Or desk drawer. Or time capsule. Or anywhere that is not in the pocket of an upcharging online seller who is lurking in the dark corner of a musty apartment preying on a wounded, vintage soul like me. Perhaps you can schedule a Brett Favre-esque de-retirement party for the iPod classic. Perhaps you can Backstreet Boys a comeback that’s everything I’ve dreamed of, if only a little greyer than I remember.

Don’t get me wrong, you’ve come a long way. Never did I think I could listen to music, text my mom and send a picture of myself with CGI dog ears to everyone in my contact list all at the same time. I mean, the future is NOW. I totally get it. And I understand that I’m the “back in my day” grandfather in the back row of the parent teacher conference in this situation. But I can’t help it. I like what I like, and that’s the ability to hold my entire music collection in my hand without needing wifi or trimmed storage space to do it. I love what I love, and that’s the occasionally mismatched album art that tries to tell me “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” is on the Foo Fighters’ Sonic Highways album. I need what I need, and that’s a revival of the 160GB 5^th Generation iPod classic.

All I ask is that you consider it….

Please.

Pretty please.

We’re talking People’s Most Beautiful Please of 2017.

Anyways, that’s all from me. Happy birthday, again.

Say hello to the family for me.

Sincerely,

Kim