"Adam! I just spilled water in my laptop! What do I doooo?"
Adam is halfway down the stairs before I finish. I don't even have to repeat myself - that's
a first - for him to remove the headphones and race to my rescue. Of course he will race to my rescue. Why have a seventeen-year-old son if not to be your personal Computer Geek?
He surveys my handiwork. The laptop is now upside down (the better to drip dry) atop the couch.
"K. First you need to turn it off." He effects this, then flips it over. Watches me dab the excess from the keys with a tissue. "It's solid-state, which means the current flows over top of the stuff in there" (simplifying for his mother, I suspect) "so once you remove current, nothing more is going to happen, unless djsir $&Djfud@ sfeuie 3rjwp &*sjfd."
No, I have no idea what the "unless" part was. I blanked it out. Couldn't bear to deal with any unless-es just yet.
It's just an ACER. Pretty close to bottom-of-the-line. A poor, slow, lurching ACER, but it's the very best I could manage, and it's my baby. Oh! how I love it. And oh! how I'd miss it. All those unrecorded URL's? My writing? My drafts of this idea or that. Correspondence. Budgets. Contracts. Emergency numbers. Pictures. Um. Maybe it's time to do some backing up?
Maybe it's TOO LATE! Maybe it's ALL GONE! Maybe my ENTIRE LIFE has just been washed away by a single, inattentive slosh of water. Don't speak to me of "unless".
want to know "unless what"? Ha. I'll bet you're the kid who picked the scabs off their scrapes and now likes to watch surgeries on Discovery Channel. Oh, wait. That's me. Well, I'll bet you just love to watch thrillers. Yeah. I'll be you keep your eyes open when the music reaches the crescendo and the stupid, stupid woman is reaching her hand for the doorknob to the basement stairs. Not me! So, no, I don't know "unless what".
"Now you just need to let it evaporate dry. That will take a few hours." His voice is matter-of-fact, soothing.
I decide to wait until morning. Every time I pass it, I hover, a nervous mother with a sick baby. I want to turn it on - I want to know
- but I can't risk making it worse. Tick, tick, tick.
I wake in the night, worrying. How sad is that?
First thing this morning, I come downstairs. Reach for the ON button. And I can't do it. Wander back to the kitchen to make myself some tea. Step in the fridge puddle. DAMN. The fridge leaks, the porch leaks, my washer overflowed all over the basement yesterday, my laptop could be fried. Not a good weekend for Mary and water.
Fortified with my tea, I approach. Push. Wait for the whirr -- and it's fine! Well, mostly. It takes four and a half minutes to boot up, the cursor freezes at random moments, sometimes the cursor vanishes entirely even while my text keeps appearing, and sometimes my text stops appearing but I keep on typing, and three seconds later, it all appears.
But it's always done that. This is fine
, for an ACER. I'm so happy. I'm delighted. I'm relieved. I'm thrilled.
As soon as Adam wakes up, he's going to back up my computer for me. He loves computers in all shapes and sizes, he'll be thrilled to know it still lives. He'll be so thrilled he rescued it, thrilled to effect its further preservation. In fact, I may just go get him now. Right now, at eight on a Sunday morning!
He'll be so thrilled.
© 2006, Mary P