Alison Bezzina

I’m undergoing a technological breakdown. This is nothing like my regular breakdowns which are easily resolved with a tub of ice-cream and numerous glasses of wine. No, unfortunately this type of breakdown requires talking to people, having an undisclosed amount of patience, and being deprived of basic needs like wireless internet.

I’ve just moved into a new home and most of the electrical equipment that I brought with me from the old place is protesting with vengeance. My washing machine – a loyal and trusted friend that has seen me through the fluff of five cats and three wardrobes – simply doesn’t fancy its new abode. My computer - my lifeline to the outside world - prefers its previous, crammed, fluff-infested location. My scanner misses the pile of papers and postcards that it was previously buried under, and the air-conditioning is so homesick that every night it cries itself to sleep threatening to swell up my new wooden flooring with its voluminous tears. Together, they have formed a picket line, taken to stamping their feet and are striking indefinitely.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I can quite easily live without a washing machine and an AC, but to put it mildly, I feel completely lost and inept without a computer. But as life would have it, fixing the computer is usually the most expensive, most stressful and least likely to succeed than anything else. I’ve tried giving it the technical equivalent of a complete detox – that is, restarting the computer over and over again. Usually, this solves most problems but this time it didn’t. Instead a weird beeping noise came out of the tower – this was the type of noise that traditionally alerts me to pieces of gum sticking to the keys on the keyboard, but with no gum in sight, I went as far as disconnecting the keyboard all together, but the beeping noise persisted. Then I switched off the whole system from the wall-plug, and on the third unsuccessful attempt I switched off the power to the whole street. When this didn’t work either, I thought that it might be a simple case of sibling rivalry, so I moved the printer away from the tower, and the scanner away from the monitor, but then, the computer stopped talking to the keyboard, the mouse crawled out of Windows, and Bluetooth started recognizing printers I do not have. If only I could browse the Web for a few minutes I’d find a solution to most of my problems, in fact I’d probably even find a way of fixing the washing machine and the AC, but without a working computer this is as helpful as trying to drive to a petrol station when you’ve completely run out of fuel.

Clearly this was the end of my self-help road. At this point I had to do the unthinkable and call the computer helpline. I hate having to come to this point because whilst most techies are great at talking to tantrum-throwing hardware, they are a disaster when trying to talk to another human being. I braced myself for the worst type of condescending treatment and dialed the number but nothing could have prepared me for what was in store for me. The techie at the other end of the line simply did not speak my language. He threw bits and bytes, RAM and ROM, socket packets, hubs and ports at me like there was no tomorrow. By the end of it I was so confused and frustrated that I told him to go do the unimaginable to his motherboard.

Finally I resorted to calling a friend, who, in passing, had once mentioned being some sort of computer specialist. At least this techie spoke my language so I lured him into physically coming to check the beast at home. He dismantled the whole thing into tiny little bits and pieces and I saw things no computer lover should ever have to see. It was bloody and fluffy, and soon after the first incision he realised that the situation was worse than he had thought. So he stitched it up as fast as he could and sent it to the Contagious Hardware Hospital for further tests. Although my human-speaking techie is probably capable of turning a toaster into a PC, it seems that my computer’s condition has now spread to its vital organs and the prognosis is not looking good all.

Unlike the washing machine and the air-conditioning, this is a very serious matter, because until I replace, or fix my computer (secretly I’m still hoping), I will have to have a cup of tea in the morning and read my newspaper like I used to before the Web; I will eat with a knife and fork and not with one hand scrolling up and down a mouse; On weekends I will probably get dressed before noon; I will call someone I cannot chat with, and I will probably make an attempt to clean the house, and cook dinner. So help me God!

 First published on the Sunday Times September 2008