*published May 25, 2006
Dale has a high tolerance for clutter, loves to play and watch sports, and would rather try to fix a broken appliance than replace it. I like organization, throw like a girl and only watch sports when Dale has control of the TV. I’m not a shopaholic, but if the toaster breaks, I will go buy a new one.
Last week’s adventure with my computer was just another example of this.
My little laptop had begun to crash a lot in the last few months. It crashed if I had too many programs running. It crashed if I didn’t have enough programs running. My hardware and software didn’t get along; my task manager hogged all of the CPU, and my printer fought with everybody.
I tried running the anti-virus program, but it made my computer crash, too. Alarmed, I bought an external hard drive to back up my files. When I ran the back up program, my computer crashed.
As a last resort, I talked to the computer’s technical support crew (who all sounded like 12-year-old boys) and had to explain what the crash looked like, as though they’d never witnessed such a phenomenon.
“The screen goes dark, there is a horrid clicking noise, and then there is silence,” I told them. Apparently, this is the kind of story that is told around engineer campfires, and no one sleeps that night.
One technician said that possibly the hard drive was dying. He advised me to back up my files and perform a “system recovery,” which sets the computer back to its original, factory-pristine state.
After saving my files, folder by folder, I tried the system recovery CD. Yes, it made my computer crash.
By Sunday, I was in a panic. In three days, there were two articles and a column that needed to be completed and emailed to editors. It wasn’t like renting a car when mine was in the shop. I needed my computer.
“That guy said it might be the hard drive?” Dale asked.
I nodded.
Shrugging his shoulders, Mr. Fix-it said, “So tomorrow go buy a new hard drive.”
Trying not to shriek, I looked up and informed him, “Tomorrow I’m buying a new computer.”
Dale rolled his eyes, which was husband-speak for, “I can’t believe you’re going to give up when the solution is so simple and wouldn’t take more than a couple of days, giving you at least three hours to meet your deadlines.”
Regardless of my hubby’s eye-rolling, Monday morning still found me at Circuit City’s doors, begging them to sell me a laptop, which they were happy to do. I took it home, made my deadlines, and lowered my blood pressure. And Dale didn’t tell me that I gave up too easy.
Fortunately, even when he thinks I’m making a stupid decision, Dale doesn’t argue about it. That’s one of our similarities – we don’t try to change our differences.