The Hard Drive Has Failed


I think my computer is having a temper tantrum. The diagnostics say the hard drive failed.

Has anyone ever tried talking to a computer when it does this? Maybe that will work.

Computer, is that any way to treat a friend? Me.

Look at all we’ve been through together, and now after all the strenuous work you’ve done, you decide to take a break?

Do you want to renegotiate your contract? You want higher wages?

Look at what I provide for you now. A warm place in winter; a cool place in summer. I’ve never offered you a ham sandwich. I only ever thought you ate words, because some I typed disappeared, and I never could find them again.

Maybe you have acid reflux. I imagine some of the stuff I wrote gave you indigestion.

Maybe I’ve overworked you, but you never complained until now.

Are you lonesome and need a girlfriend?

You want more say in what’s going on? How can you say that? Up to now you haven’t said a word that wasn’t preprogrammed in your brain.

Do you need therapy? I checked the phone book, but I don’t find any computer psychologist.

Maybe you want to go to school to learn some new words. I mean the few words you use are rather stilted. We just don’t talk like that in the South.

“The hard drive has failed”. That’s so harsh, and is certainly not Southern language. It would be much better while I drink my mint julep if you said, “Y’all might take a closer look. I’m having a hard day.”

I think a course in Southern would do you good. Take spell-check for example.

You say, “Fragment”. Can’t you say this? “Does this make right good sense to you?”

And when you say I misspelled a word, instead of pointing it out in such a gruff manner, what about this? “In today’s society, we consider my spelling more acceptable.”

And when you say redundant, how can I know what that means unless I look it up in the dictionary. What about this? “Your brain has had a momentary pause in logic.”

And when I come to the end of a sentence, and inadvertently hit the period several times, instead of blazoning it across the screen, say, “Your finger got stuck.”

And those impersonal words when I finish writing at night, “Shutting Off.” Try this. “What you wrote today is brilliant. I mean nobody writes better than you. And, just think, tomorrow you will be even better.”

I think I’ll turn on the computer now, and see if it’s over its temper tantrum. “Hard drive has failed.”

I wonder if it will only take one stick of dynamite or two to blow this thing up?

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