The Curse of Sensitization

I was crossing campus on my way home today when I heard raised voices. This isn't unusual; BYU students are notorious for immaturity and frivolity. What really caught my attention was the tone of the voice. He sounded genuinely upset. It didn't take long for me to locate the source of the disruption; two men were standing toe to toe in front of the JFSB.

One was shouting, the other was quietly trying to talk him down. "Why are you touching me? Stop touching me!" The calmer man took a careful step backward, hands raised in surrender.

At this point I was still doubting the genuineness of this confrontation. After all, this was BYU. The likelihood that these men were actors or social science students was much higher. It wasn't until the Douche dropped the F-bomb that I realized it was real.

The Shouting Douche continued to rant and rave before he dropped a few more F-bombs then finally retreated into the building. The calmer man remained standing where he was, likely in shock, then slowly walked away.

What really floored me was the lack of reaction around me. No one was even looking! I wanted desperately to shout at the Douche, "Shut up before you embarrass yourself anymore! And get off this campus, you don't deserve to be here!" But I doubted anyone would have backed me up. They probably figured it was safer to keep their heads down. Pansies.

I was also surprised by how much hearing those words shocked me. I consider myself fairly desensitized as far as cursing goes, thanks to a few favorite rated-R movies and growing up in Southern California (and my dad). Maybe I've gotten soft. Or maybe it's because I heard it on BYU campus, the last place in the world besides a temple I would expect to hear foul language.

Whatever the case, I was genuinely surprised, and even more surprised by the fact that I was surprised in the first place.

Hector and I

Last Wednesday the unthinkable happened. My MacBook, Hector, crashed.

He crashed hard.

I was typing away when he suddenly froze up for the first time in 4 1/2 years. He had been running a little funny, but I thought it was due to the recent software upgrade to Snow Leopard. I forced him to restart by holding down his power button.

That's when all hell broke loose.

And by 'hell', I mean a blinking '?' symbol. Yes, the dreaded '?' symbol. It means your Mac can't locate it's own brain. I've kept all his original installation discs and manuals so I whipped them out and tried some troubleshooting. Nothing worked. I cooed, I coaxed, but Hector wouldn't rouse. He was gone.

As this realization dawned, I experienced a curious feeling in my face. It was a flushing heat that resembled some sort of demented blush. It was accompanied by a clenching in my chest and I had trouble thinking straight. I was having some kind of panic attack.

Thankfully, it was gone as quickly as it came and a warm calm descended over me. I could practically hear Heavenly Father telling me, "He's gone. There's nothing you can do. Calm down."

The fact that I'd backed up my data was also a comfort. It was nearly midnight, so I knew Apple's call-in support centers were closed. I tried a little more troubleshooting, but to no avail.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't do homework, I couldn't check my email. I felt cut off and isolated. And that's sayin' a lot because I'm somewhat of a hermit to begin with. Eventually I gave up and watched 'Thor' where I found solace in the gleaming biceps thereof.

The point I'm trying to make is that I've become far too dependent upon my laptop. My whole life is on it. A stranger could learn everything there is to know about me through Hector. My favorite websites are on it, my journal is on it, my favorite movies and television shows are on it, my music is on it, my stories are on it, my schoolwork is on it, my schedule is on it. You name it, it's on it.

The next day I called Apple and they walked me through a diagnosis that confirmed my fears; Hector was done for. It turns out his demise was entirely my fault. I was unknowingly running him with a scarce 5GB of free space. Unable to bear the weight, Hector buckled.

I would need a new hard drive. Apple's estimate was $700 to fix him. At that rate I might as well invest in a new computer. The panic was long-gone but at this point the wretched sorrow took over and I burst into self-pitying tears. I couldn't deal with this!

Thankfully, the computer repair center in the BYU bookstore had New Hector up and running for $145 in 30 minutes the next day, Friday. I had gone without a personal computer for two days and somehow survived.

I think I deserve an apple-shaped medal.
And an honorable mention for my dad: I know you don't read these, but thank you for the help!