Part One: My Laptop Breaks
My laptop has been the sustaining factor of my college career.
Well, you know. The sustaining factor of my college career was actually the people who love me unconditionally and in spite of the fact that I'm slightly awkward in social situations and occasionally talk to myself when I'm thinking about characters.
But my laptop takes a close second. I acquired it the summer before my Freshman year--Summer 2010. It was my graduation gift, but I did have to pay for half of it--which was a pretty fair deal, in my eighteen-year-old (and indeed, in my 22-year-old) opinion. It was love at first power-up. And it's served me well. Four years, Lewis Caroll knows how many words, essays, internet searches--and nary a problem. I considered myself to be pretty lucky.
June second I turned in the last assignment of my undergrad career, backed up my entire schoolwork folder to a USB drive, and probably went to bed sometime after midnight. The next morning, I was burrowed in bed, trying to convince myself that I probably should get up and get ready to go help with renovations, when my mom came in (yes. I live with my parents, currently. It's not permanent. I'm actually hoping to move out sometime this summer, but frankly I consider myself pretty lucky just to have a place to sleep and eat. I'm a poor college student whose marriage failed, I'm not living a super lucrative lifestyle here).
Mom: Hilary? You awake?
Me: ...yeah.
Mom: Something's wrong with your laptop. It makes weird noises when it's starting up and then it crashes. It did it twice. It's off right now, but you should probably go check on it.
So I got up and turned my laptop on, and sure enough, it was making these terrible choking, whirring noises like it was in a huge amount of pain and would rather be put out of its misery than be made to function. And when it finally did start up, sure enough, it crashed. So I restarted it, and the same process began again.
Part Two: My Laptop Gets a Name.
As I was sitting there, staring at this poor, choking contraption, I realized it had a name.
You can't force names on things. Anything from pets to cars will not accept any name but the right one. Same goes for inanimate electronics. I've named my smart phone the Oracle (because I consult it for answers) and that stuck from the beginning. My laptop was trickier. I never had a name for it besides "the computer," "the laptop," and sometimes, more affectionately, "my compy" (thank you, StrongBad and homestarrunner.com for shaping my entire middle school existence and, by proxy, my life).
Anyway. I digress. I was sitting there, helpless, and then I just knew. This laptop's name was George Clooney, because it is silver and distinguished and, while fairly old, is too young to die. I definitely did not pick out the name myself, because while I like George Clooney well enough, he is NOT on my list of Top Five Favorite Male Actors or even Top Five Male Actors I Have Raging Crushes On. In any case, I knew I had to save my laptop. Being a writer, this thing is my livelihood. Well, actually, my imagination is my livelihood. But this laptop takes a close second.
This sudden christening caused a lot of confusion amongst my inner circle, who didn't understand why I kept updating my facebook status saying "George Clooney needs to get repaired." Certainly it made me sound crazy and a little bit delusional (because if Actual George Clooney was actually hanging out with me, I certainly would never say he needs repairs). But inside, I was scared. Was George Clooney repairable? Would I be up the creek without a laptop?
And while that's not the actual metaphor, and I have no idea what good a laptop would do on a creek, you understand my point.
It was kind of a hassle finding a place to fix George while running around from Workplace #1, home, and Workplace #2, but I finally got it up to a Simply Mac that's not far from where I do hot yoga on occasion. The diagnostic equipment was down so it was with a heavy heart that I signed over my trusty sidekick to the hands of a technician with the promise of hearing word in a day or two.
Part Three: My Laptop Gets Repaired.
After dropping off George, I went to Workplace #2: Kombucha, and tried not to think about a future without George. I had no idea if the problems would be fixable, or if they were fixable; would it cost more than it was worth to fix? And if George was either a) broken or b) cost more to fix, would I 1) buy a new computer or 2) continue to save up to buy a car or 3) continue to save up to move out?
This is why growing up sucks popsicle sticks. Not popsicles. Popsicle sticks. The kind that could possibly give you tongue splinters and only serve to remind you that the popsicle is gone. Not that I personally have had tongue splinters from popsicle sticks, but you know it's probably happened to someone.
I got a call while I was working (which I did not answer, because I was working) from the technician who was working on my laptop, and he left me a voicemail. So, as soon as I could, I listened to it. Apparently my hard drive had just fried itself. Like, completely. That was where the choking noises were coming from, and the heating up, and the stalling and crashing. And all the data that I'd saved to the hard drive was gone. Gone. Which, I had backed up everything for school, mostly everything for my own personal writing, and mostly everything that belonged to a third unnamed vague category that is a combination of internet purchase receipts and recipes (receipts and recipes. Ha). I hadn't backed up my iTunes library, or my photographs, but I didn't realize that those would all probably be gone until later. But, the tech guy said, George would be fixable. I just needed a new hard drive, which would cost much less than buying a new computer. And of course, the tech guy didn't call him George. Why would he know? He wouldn't. Don't be silly.
So I called the tech guy back, asked a few more questions about the longevity of the computer if I were to install a new hard drive, and told him to go ahead with it. They finished installing the new hard drive later that day, and I just picked George up this afternoon.
George is now back, which makes me the happiest. Even though he's a little different because all the things that we collaborated on are now sort of gone. Well. Mostly gone. Just a few photos and songs. Well. 200 songs. But I have an iPod with most of everything on it, so I'm not as worried as I could be. It's like being in one of those Nicholas Sparks movies that I saw a preview for once--that one where Rachel McAdams is married to Channing Tatum and she gets amnesia and he has to prove that he's actually her husband and that he loves her more than anything else and--
(I bet you all thought I was going to say "The Notebook." Well, I have a confession to make: I've never seen a Nicholas Sparks film--not even "The Notebook" and I'm not going to start now.)
It's like that. Except, you know, without marriage, car accidents, amnesia, Channing Tatum and his six-pack, and Rachel McAdams. But after those things go away, the similarities are just endless.
Welcome back, George!
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