Proof that, I am indeed, a computer Jinx. It all started in Kindergarten…
Kindergarten computer class (1992-ish). The dawn of a new era. Black and green screens packed into a temporary trailer, parked on the edge of the playground. Oversized headphones. New to school, shy young girl.
I actually protested computer class. Something happened when I put on my headphones, logged on, and started my assignment. All the other kids loved it. They would click away with smiling faces, quickly moving between educational levels, two plus two equaled a jumping, pixelated frog. I hated it.
I would panic, start to sweat, have a 5 year old version of a heart attack. I was a good student though. Breezed through all my (other) assignments and kept to myself. The teacher noticed me crying in front of my computer on the first day and quickly surrendered. She didn’t force me to get past my fear, or whatever it was that was paralyzing me. Instead, she let me log on and off the computer for the 30 minutes a day that we had computer time. She would even sit right by me and grade papers, so I wouldn’t have to be alone. I was so relieved. And I got really good at typing my name. Crisis averted.
Middle school: Eventually computers entered everyone’s lives and I got over my fear. We had a technology class in middle school which required that we be on the computer learning software for at least half the class. I was fine with this, but the computer was not. Almost everyday, from day 1 of that class, my computer crashed. Died. Shut down or froze. And it’s not like I had the same computer everyday. We rotated. I was reprimanded- the teacher assumed it was something I was doing for no one else had this problem. I promised I was doing nothing- clicking at the right pace, only going where I was supposed to go- so to settle matters she decided to monitor me. She saw the truth. I was doing nothing wrong. A look of fear covered her face as she kicked me out of the computer portion of her class. I was forced to do nothing but the book work part. I was okay with that.
College: My first personal computer. I used an entire local scholarship to purchase my Toshiba laptop. I was so excited. I don’t think that POS worked right for day 1. My uncle ended up giving me his old apple laptop that had to be taped together in some areas, but it worked swimmingly compared to my new, shiny (blue) toshiba.
Sophomore Year: My Grandparents, Aunt and Uncle helped buy me a new Apple, mac book pro. A dream machine. Never had I beheld such beauty. My Uncle wisely suggested we buy the extended apple care warranty. Since then, I have had nearly every part replaced on my computer. And I have not been negligent- I am very careful with expensive goods. We’re talking the logic board to power cord to the part that burns CDs. Lesson learned: always buy apple care.
Junior Year: As Photo editor and future editor in chief of the yearbook, I was responsible for our office and computer goods. We designed our book using a 2 year old Mac G5 tower, with a 20 something inch screen. It was nice. Until is crashed. And crashed again. And Again. We sent it to a certified apple technician. They couldn’t figure it out. So apple sent their own technician out. Three different times. No one could figure it out. Or they would ‘fix’ it, but it would last 1 whole whopping day. Apple finally gave up and sent us a new G5. Problem solved.
Just to top this all off, I noticed that my Mac book pro has these black marks below the keyboard, where my palms rest when I type. They have been expanding and spreading since the 1 year mark. I did a little research, and it turns out (apparently) that some people have highly acidic sweat that corrodes/pits metals, like titanium. And by some people, I mean, less than 1%.
So really, all this evidence could be chalked up to the unreliable nature of computers and all complex machinery- but I say jinx. My father always believed I was cursed on some level, and plus- everyone loves a good conspiracy theory. But ps: never let me near your computer if you know what’s good for it.
teresaforster.com 