Most of us, unfortunately, know the feeling. You turn your beloved computer on. Provider of Knowledge. Source of Fun. Means of Communication. Facilitator of Business. Teacher. Mother. Secret Lover. But, most of all, your friend. Your computer.
You turn it on, and something's not right. It's not well. You can tell. Maybe it emits a strange noise. Maybe something clicks. Maybe the smooth hum of the fan is a bit rough. What's wrong? Then, if anything appears at all on the screen, it's something with exclamation points or questions marks. Something artificial (i.e. Windows' "Safe Mode"). That sinking feeling starts to form deep in your gut.
You think that maybe resetting it will help. Does that seem overly simplistic a solution? Perhaps. It's the first thing any good technical support person suggests, after all, and you've been close to this scenario before when you tried to download that piece of demo software. But you and your computer have always been able to pull through. Even that time you had to use your recovery disks and re-load your operating system, you made it. Post-op was a bit rough, but after some hard work in rehab, things were okay. Maybe if we just reset it again, things will be okay?
You can hear your heart beating in your ears as uou try to reset the machine again and again, but each time less and less of the usual startup routine actually happens. The lump in your gut grows in size as you begin to think of all that's on there, wondering if it can be saved. Journal entries, notes and assignments from school, financial records, correspondence, and oh, the music! Such music! Favorites, emails, business information, contacts, passwords!
Like the guy who frantically tries to give the appearance of knowledge by looking under the hood of his car, you realize that you've reached the end of your expertise as with each reset the computer becomes less responsive, and a spark of hope begins to smolder in the deep recesses of your impending depression. Tech support!
You bought a warranty! You bought from a company that allows you to bring your machine in and talk to
a live person any time you need it! You don't have to wait on hold and talk to another continent for help! What joy! What hope!
Quickly, you strap your computer to the gurney and speed to the store, sirens blazing. They hook your computer up to an IV, but within seconds, you can see it in the technician's face. Things don't look good. It's not responding to conventional treatment. He calls in a second opinion. The kid with his piercings and tatoos can maybe save you. But no. He shakes his head. There's one more thing they can try, but you can tell it's without enthusiasm or much hope.
Without a word, you can hear the long, drawn-out beep of the computer EKG. They disconnect their diagnostic devices and effectively pull the blanket over your computer's face and shut its eyes.
It's gone. You've lost a friend. You've lost everything that friend represented. And oddly enough, the knowledge that it was your own arrogance and irresponsibility at not backing everything up like you KNEW you should strangly is little consolation.
Be not deceived, my friends. A Mac by any other name is still a computer. It can still break. It can still fry. There need be no explanation. I'd always treated it with the best of care. But the premium I paid to buy a Mac over a PC, to say nothing of the extra money I paid to actually get a decent warranty (Mac's standard warranty isn't all that amazing) now means nothing.
Sure, they replaced the hard drive. But unfortunately, the new hard drive they gave me and installed for me doesn't have my journal on it, doesn't have my notes on it, doesn't have my correspondence on it, and oh, the music!
I'm told that even now there is still hope to recover the data. It's costly. Between that and the cost of a backup drive that I'm sure to buy in the next few weeks, it will cost about the same as the above-mentioned premium did. I'm not so embittered that I can't appreciate the irony. But, if I were, I'm not sure anyone could hold it against me.
In retrospect, I brought this on myself. Not long after school started, a friend of mine's computer crashed. A SONY. A lovely machine. "You should've gone Mac!" I gloated. "Those things don't happen! It's worth the money!" I told him at his time of greatest vulnerability.
For a long time I looked with scorn upon smug Mac users. And then I caved. They're so cool-looking and everyone says they're great. I’d sung the praises of Macs for a year, but no more. I’d committed myself to going PC-free for the rest of my life, but no more. I’d idealistically looked forward to being part of changing a PC-only profession (law) to a more universal one, but no more.
I'm a little wiser now, and a little more cynical. I add my voice to the chorus of those who've lost everything their computer stands for, and will be preaching the gospel of backing up from now on. Don't be a victim.
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