Computer Age

My wife and I share many values. But somehow we have never managed
to share the same computer. She has her own, in one room; and I have
mine, somewhere else. The other evening, her computer broke down under
mysterious circumstances. The way she put it, it had worked fine the
night before, but now it did not work at all. Nothing showed up on the
monitor, and no sound came out the computer unit. The whole thing
seemed to be kind of dead.

Having no practical sense of things, I instinctively asked myself: How
can a computer work fine on one evening and then become depressingly
dead the next day? I tried to remember what had happened around the
house the night before. But I could not find anything unusual: My wife,
our four cats and I had been sleeping all night, with all lights
off.

I then realized that computers, much like human beings, do not
necessarily warn us before they pass away, with something like: I am
terribly sorry, but this was our last day together. After you turn me
off this last time, I will be gone. Take care.

So, instead of comparing computers' and human beings' behavior, I
decided to take some action and do something about it. I switched the
power button on, and noticed something weird. The monitor had stayed on
only for a couple of seconds, and then went off again. It was like it
was trying to tell us: why don't you guys leave me alone; can't you see
I am dead? I intuitively felt there was something fishy with that
monitor. But I did not know how to prove it.

What I did know was that my wife was expecting me to come up with some
brilliant idea for fixing her computer. Therefore, I calmly suggested
that, before making any decision, we should consult a qualified
technician to determine whether the problem was only with the computer
unit, the monitor, or both.

First thing in the morning, I was patiently waiting in line at the
repair service desk of the biggest computer store in town.

The young technician who was supposedly glad to help me, asked
immediately how old the computer was. That's nonsense, I thought.
Computers are not like human beings, who can get old and eventually
die, even if they do nothing their entire lives. Why isn't he asking me
how often and how long my wife has been using her computer, to find out
more about its actual usage, rather than its age?

More than a bit suspicious about the motive behind the technician's
question, I decided to blatantly lie: Instead of saying five years, I
told the guy that the computer was only three years old.

Sure enough, he then tried to convince me that three years for a
computer is like ninety years for a human being: It was long enough to
replace my wife's old computer with a new one, for only $600 - $700.
While he was quick to recommend some special offers they had just for a
few more days, he asked nothing about the monitor.

I have always hated that verb "replace". I don't like replacing
anything in my life: habits, shoes, pyjamas. Perhaps because I fear
that pretty soon someone may start wondering whether I should be
replaced myself, or simply deleted like a computer file.

In any event, while I do not know a lot about computers, I certainly
know enough about sales ploys to recognize that that particular
computer expert was more interested in his sales commission than
bringing the computer back to life. I still had no reliable information
about the disease, coma, or possibly death of my wife's computer.
Therefore, I decided to take it across town, where 8 years ago I had
found a great computer repair store: small, a bit messy, but run by
very kind people.

With the computer unit clutched in my arms like a sick - and pretty
heavy - baby, I walked to the second floor of a two-story shopping
center, impatiently searching for my reliable store.

Damned global economy! That store, my store, was long gone out of
business. In its place, there was now an astrologer. I must admit that,
being a Pisces, I have always been fascinated by astrology. And yet I
found it hard to believe that an astrologer, even a reputable one,
could be of much help in this case.

I decided it was about time to brief my wife on how little was going
on. As I did not have the 50 cents for the pay phone, I trudged into a
nearby post office on the first floor, always holding the computer unit
firmly in my arms.

I figured that people who work in shops close to a pay phone must hate
and feel demeaned when someone comes in and asks them for some change,
without buying anything. So, out of respect for the Post Office clerk's
sense of dignity, instead of asking bluntly for change, I asked to buy
a book of self-peel stamps. When I was about to receive the change, I
then politely asked the clerk to give me four quarters, instead of a
dollar note. Sorry, the clerk said in a stern voice: No change.

My argument that getting some quarters was the very reason for my
buying a book of stamps did not fly. From her smirk, it was abundantly
clear that the clerk had heard the same story, and perhaps even the
same words, a few hundred times before. Her only suggestion was to buy
one more stamp. And so, aware that preserving my mental sanity and good
spirits was worth more than 34 cents, I decided to accept that
suggestion. And, indeed, it worked.

I called my wife, and we agreed that I would try and find a reliable
computer repair store in our neighborhood.

An hour later, I thought I had found one. I was standing in front of a
closed black door with no sign on it, still clutching the computer unit
in my arms. When the door suddenly swung open, I let out a sigh of
relief: It was indeed a computer repair store, and the kind I like:
small and a bit messy.

The person who served me took the computer unit gently from my arms,
and put it on a white, round table. He turned the power on. And bingo:
the computer unit worked just fine, there was absolutely nothing wrong
with it. So it must be the monitor, he and I immediately concluded. I
dashed outside and fetched it from the trunk of my car. Before turning
the monitor on, this unknown wizard put his out-of-date glasses on and
adjusted the monitor cable just a little bit, with a tiny screwdriver.
Like most surgeons, he did not say a word. I could hardly wait any
longer. He turned the monitor on. And bingo again: Also the monitor
worked great. Everything worked great. It was only the monitor cable
that needed some attention.

When my wife got home in the evening, I made sure her five year old
computer was properly installed and on. Big smile, big hug. Nothing had
really changed from two nights before, except that her computer was now
a day older. And so were we.