The wonders of Technology
Welcome to London — Episode 11
London. Monday. 2.30 pm. Bluescreen sounds like something magical. Something exciting. Why does it always sound better than it is in real life.
When did I save my progress last? Brilliant.
My laptop recovers from the bluescreen accompanied by the loud wiring of the fen — it sounds like it is about to take off any minute. I tap my finger impatiently on the desk.
“Again?” Melvin, my neighbour — sitting on the next desk — peaks over my shoulder. “I think it’s you. No one causes his laptop to fail so often!”
Glad at least the others can enjoy my distress!
Unfortunately, he is right. It was only a couple of weeks ago that my computer locked my account. Apparently, it keeps forgetting that I am German and therefore defaults back to the English keyboard when it first starts up in the morning … From now on I avoid passwords with any German umlaut.
Anyway, I am not the one causing the failure. I was completely innocent that my Monitors were not working out of the box. I tried really hard, and when I finally asked for help, also Tony needed an hour or so to set them up. Not speaking of how many cable and adapter we tried to get them connected.
Eventually, my computer starts up again, hesitantly presenting the password form, although the screen shows a disco of white and bright red stripes across the whole left side.
Between the flashing colours, I bring up my programs and cross my fingers — and toes — however, my progress was not saved before my computer died. Of course not!
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale — calm down, Nicky, I tell myself and try to relax my fingers clutching the mouse, the plastic already mourning against the pressure, while the colours keep dancing over my monitor like an epileptic firefly.
I accept that my data is gone and decide to restart my computer and get myself a cup of tea before I do anything else.
Rebooting my conscious and my laptop does not change a thing about my fancy new flashlights, though.
“Nicky, go down to Matt — my eyes are hurting from here,” Melvin complains.
Seems everything’s set to draw the last option: The IT department — the last place I want to spend my afternoon.
We have a classic IT department like in The IT Crowd. It is not in the basement but a windowless office on the fifth floor. Just a bit better than a storage room.
Trapped in there are five guys. Imagine them as the Village People of FineTech. A bit odd, funny and definitely no one you want to be seen in public with.
I understand that it is not an easy job. Five guys splitting over more than 3,000 people in the campus and fight the stupidity of the average computer user. No wonder they are a bit … strange. However, they are not the most supportive support people in the world.
Whenever I come to IT they behave as if I was bothering them. Well, I am annoyed, too, when I actually have to do work! Maybe it is really me — by the frequency I am visiting them, they might actually think I am ruining my laptop on purpose and are therefore annoyed with me in particular.
As if it was not unpleasant enough to have an IT problem the line is busy as usual when I try to call them and even on a good day I wait for hours until finally, someone shows up. My best chance is to walk downstairs, my laptop in hand, to jump the queue.
For Security reason, their chamber of secrets is locked for us mortals. I nock at the door and my heart is pounding, when Matt opens.
Did I talk about the village people earlier — well, then there is Matthew. The only sane person in that room and a prince charming, by the book.
The draft the opening door creates is enough to let his blonde, fluffy hair fly around his head and I look up into his bright blue eyes, the laptop pressed to my chest, like a schoolgirl.
“Hi Nicky, can I help you?” he asks in his low voice and I swear I hear a couple of girls behind me sigh by the sight of him. It is not only me.
“Erm, kind of,” I stumble. What is wrong with me?
I show him my disco monitor and he nods patiently. He pats my hand gently as if to comfort me, “No worries. Leave the laptop with me, it’ll be alright.”
I swallow hard as if he just gave me hope on the deathbed of a close relative.
“I can give you a pool laptop as a replacement for now, so you can crack on and I get it back to you as soon as I can.”
He really is a lifesaver. Although, with his hand on my arm he could have told me that he is going to launch a nuclear missile and I couldn’t do anything but sheepishly smile.
He hands me over one of the poor spare laptops who look like they were torn out in the nineties — what might actually be true — and winks at me, “See you later, Nicky.”
I giggle and bat my eyes playfully. He already knows my name, I think and try to ignore, that this is just another sign, that my laptop is causing more issues than anyone else’s.
On my way upstairs I wonder that the phone did not ring a single time while I was in the IT chamber. How comes the line is usually busy? Never mind. I go back and start my new old laptop with high expectations.
My excitement is long gone, while the loading spinner of the windows update is hypnotising me. It is sitting at 100% for at least ten minutes and yet no attempts to start up.
Happy place. Inhale. Exhale.
My knuckles are white on my clenched fists and I try to stay calm. There is only so much paperwork to do in a tech office and my notes are nicer sorted now than they’ve never been and still the computer is taking its sweet time.
Another five minutes of my Jedi stare — desperately trying to use the force to persuade windows to load quicker — and I can finally log in.
But this is not really helpful. Internet Explorer 9 is the only browser. I don’t have any permissions to download another program and the outlook only shows a blank window.
How am I supposed to write a single line of code on this machine? In Notepad?
The whole laptop does not look powerful enough to even think about installing Photoshop.
I might as well use the time to browse through our application and identify some areas we want to improve. The page comes up in stages, reminding me of the good old times, imagining the whistling of a modem in my ears.
At half past four, after I hand-cranked the laptop through various tasks, I decide it is not impolite any more to go down to Matt again to see how he’s doing with my laptop.
When he opens the door I immediately see over his shoulder a disassembled computer.
“That does not look good,” I say and mean it as a joke, but Matt shrugs apologetically.
“I already ordered a new laptop for you. This one is fried.”
I just had it for a few months. I stare at him in bewilderment.
“Does that mean …?” I leave the sentence unfinished, unable to admit the undeniable truth.
“You’ll have to stick with the pool laptop for now. It will take at least two weeks until you get the replacement. We can set you up, though. Surely you’ll need some of your programs to survive the next weeks.”
How should I survive this, at all?
“See it on the positive side: I ordered a beast for you. You just jumped the queue! If you’ll wait for two more weeks, you’ll bee unstoppable.”
This can indeed soften the grief over my lost laptop. We all have the same computer — and with all I mean the people in HR who have an excel spreadsheet and our CRM system open in their best times and our development team, who are running image editing software, the environment for our application and unit test along with many other things all at the same time.
But the beasts can handle all of that single-handed. I put my evil grin on and pet the pathetic pool laptop.
“Thanks, Matt. I can wait.”
To C. — Who had to setup my computer twice within my first half year. Thanks!
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