| Technological Tribulations by Ruth Ainley
New technology – it gets smaller every day. Much like my bank balance…
I bought a new mobile phone. Happy? I was – until I found that every time I altered the ringtone it would revert back to the song of its choice. Yes, en route to the theatre one evening (but expecting an important call) I switched the ringtone to ‘silent, vibrate’. But, just as Juliet was lamenting the loss of her beloved and tears were welling up within the eyes of the audience, what tune reverberated around the theatre from the direction of the first circle? Yes, that Jackson Five special ‘Can You Feel It’. Oh, I certainly could. Two days later, I had a new phone…and was substantially lighter in my purse.
 And then there was the home theatre system. Speakers and cables unpacked, I spent three hours connecting, disconnecting and reconnecting cables. And what was my reward? Yes, the sweet sound of silence. One week later the TV repairman called, connected the appropriate cables within three minutes and left…with a significant quantity of my money in his pocket. But the most expensive repair job was, undoubtedly, that which my laptop required…
Having previously killed two laptops I was determined that this time it would be a case of third time lucky. So, having purchased a shiny new laptop, I spent a considerable amount of time registering the appropriate software and organising my scheduled tasks. And a happy partnership ensued. I obliged my laptop by letting it scan its C disk and compress my emails on demand. In return, I defragmented the hard disk, took regular back-ups and generally pampered the little lump of plastic and chips on a regular basis. And for many months said laptop performed perfectly. And then, just as the warranty expired, so did the laptop.
Slipping the dead laptop into its case, I scuttled off to the computer store. As I approached the desk a spotty-faced youth appeared and asked if he could help me. I laid the dead laptop upon the counter and explained, in quite comprehensive terms, the nature of the problem.
“It’s dead,” said I.
The youth (or ‘Kevin’ as his nametag advised me) smiled smugly. “Were you using it on battery or mains when it died?” he enquired.
“Mains,” I said, “and there wasn’t a power cut,” I obligingly informed him, aware of his line of thought.
Kevin unzipped the case and, as he glanced in at the laptop, I heard a sharp intake of breath. Shaking his head, he closed the case again.
“Sorry, we don’t fix that make here. We only fix these makes,” and he pointed above his head to a display board, twelve feet long by three feet high, upon which was detailed the several hundred brands of computer they would fix – but not the particular brand of my laptop.
“Why can’t you repair this make?” I enquired.
Kevin shrugged. “Dunno,” came his sage reply.
Admitting defeat, I lifted the little corpse from the counter and trudged back home.
After a fortifying cup of coffee – with additives (well, I did say fortifying) – I lifted a copy of Yellow Pages and began dialling computer repair specialists. One hour later I decided I had two options – either remortgage the house and have said laptop repaired or buy laptop number four. And as I gazed despondently out of the sitting room window my neighbour arrived home, complete with twelve-year-old son…
Accosting said neighbour, I enquired after the darling child’s health. Good. He was alive, breathing and mobile – everything I could wish for. I then enquired how his studies were progressing. Perfect, he was top of his class in computer studies. I then enquired how he would like to earn a little extra pocket money…
Fifteen minutes later my laptop was fixed (Cause of temporary death? Who knows? Said child spoke at length, I didn’t understand a word of it). Money changed hands. The child looked forlornly at the folding stuff within his palm and turned his bright blue eyes upon me. More money changed hands. Said child smiled appealingly whilst still holding his open palm aloft…and I pondered the benefits of a detox week as I emptied the remaining contents of my purse into his palm.
And now? Well, my laptop has now reverted to its previous state of wellbeing, demanding its right to scan, compress and hibernate at will. And me? Well, I’m considering returning to college to retrain – something in IT perhaps?
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