Nerds
Ag@whd
most people who have washing machines don't understand them, either.
If your washing machine breaks, you call the washing machine
repairman. He's in the book.
But if your computer breaks, who do you call? There is no
infrastructure of computer repair people who make house calls.
Instead you have to schlep your precious machine into the shop and
try to explain what's the matter.
"It just kind of freezes," you say.
"It cheeses?" says the man behind the counter. English is not his
first language, or even his second.
"I have to reboot, and I lose data."
"Boot! Boot!" he says, and laughs wildly. Then he makes a telephone
call. Then he walks away.
There is a more satisfying way to get your computer fixed, although
it's also fraught with peril. You can call your local nerd. Maybe
it's the kid up the street, or the woman you met at a party who
RAMmed and ROMmed you to death, or a freelance programmer you know
from work.
Money is never involved. Usually some elaborate form of barter is
proposed; the reality of the exchange is often problematic. "If I
ever get to be president, I'll give you an unconditional pardon,"
you say.
"Smokin'!" the nerd replies.
The nerd drives an easy bargain, because nerds actually like to fix
things. You are providing them with recreation and the satisfaction
of being competent. You are also providing them with pizza, snack
chips, and caffeine-laced beverages -- this is important.
Then the dialogue begins. Not the dialogue between you and the nerd;
the dialogue between the nerd and your computer. You are merely a
bystander. Often, it's like being the only child of a dysfunctional
marriage.
The nerd says, "OK, let's see what you've got. Come on. Now this
should -- wait a minute. Wait a minute! What are you doing to me?
That can't be! Brain-dead! OK, OK, OK, this should work. OK--what?
Oh yeah, right, 'fatal error.' Right."
At this point, like a timorous child, you ask, "Fatal error? Is that
bad?"
"Happens all the time with this stupid system. We'll find a hack,"
he says. It is a relief to know that in the computer world, "fatal"
has come to mean "briefly uncomfortable."
The nerd leans back in his chair. You realise, suddenly, that he is
deeply satisfied. This is actually amusing for him; this rage at the
machine is a sign of pleasure and love.
He plunges back into the system, losing all sense of your presence
in the room. He grunts and moans; the machine pings and grinds.
"Don't do this to me, don't do this to me," he keeps repeating, like
a lover coaxing a suicidal partner off a ledge. You have the feeling
you should not be watching, and you leave. The nerd doesn't even
notice.
He comes out of the room finally, fat and sleepy in the afterglow.
"Wrote a little code," he says mildly, the way Caligula might have
said, "We had a little party." He downs the last of his soda and
disappears into the night.
You go into your study and stare at your machine. You know it loves
another more than you. You decide to live with it anyway.
Adrian
WWW WWW Adrian Gothard
WWW ww WWW White Horse Design
WWWWWWWWWW
WWWW WWWW w...@zetnet.co.uk, http://www.users.zetnet.co.uk/whd
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Designers of video capture/filter/processing systems for aircraft