Jo Ann leaps from a Mac Classic II to a PowerBook G4

I love my Mac. I swear, I do. Eleven years we’ve worked side by side. I, the struggling writer; my MacIntosh Classic II, a writer’s best friend. During this time, I shared my deepest feelings; he took it all in.  I know it sounds cornier than Fritos, but I have to say it: My love for him knew no end. The pagans idolized the golden calf. I set a pillow down on the floor and knelt down to my Mac. (Okay, after a urological mishap that kept me off my crotch for a good, or, not so good week.)
     When I go to bed at night, I thank my lucky stars for Steve Jobs, Woz (Steve Wozniak), and Ronald Gerald Wayne for founding Apple Computers. While others cursed their personal computers over the years, shook their motherboards, slapped their monitors, pointed their fingers at the screen and rued the day they were born, vowing to return them to their manufacturers, it took everything for me to refrain from saying, “You should have bought a Mac.”
    For eleven years, no one compared to my Macintosh Classic II. He’s been a real life saver. Right up there with extra strength ibuprofen. Come to think of it, he’s been more dependable than extra strength ibuprofen. Old Dependable, that’s my Mac. So what if, no matter how many times I reset the date, he still thinks it’s 1956? 1956 was a good year. Elvis crooned Heartbreak Hotel. Althea Gibson won the French Open. Japan became a member of the United Nations. Anyway, the glitch was in the printer software. You couldn’t hold him responsible for the printer? Was Hilary responsible for Bill?
 No one’s perfect. And being imperfect has its advantages. For instance, when the year 2000 rolled around, I didn’t have to worry about the Millennium bug. “I don’t have to worry about it,” I bragged. “My computer still thinks it’s 1956.”
        I love my Mac. He’s never let me down. Okay, there was that one time. But it wasn’t his fault. Could he help it that the only thing that got me through my day job back in my mid-twenties was that I could come home to pound away on my Mac’s keyboard at night? I couldn’t blame him for turning off on me unexpectedly, for refusing to boot back up again. I could never be mad at my Mac. Unlike other people I have known to hit their computers and curse their hardware package for being too soft, I begged him. I caressed his sides. I pet his head, his front, his back. “Sorry,” I apologized for working him so hard. But he wouldn’t boot up. What was a girl to do? I went into instant withdrawal. It was like the first time I fell in love. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop talking about him at work. And my hands! My fingers were at a loss. Co-dependent to the end, they were worse than a Beatles fan when the Fab Four broke up - inconsolable. After a few days there was no denying the truth: I would have to go on without my computer. I was about to replace him when, I don’t know why, I came home from work one night and decided to try to turn him on one last time. I reached around his side, flipped the switch and, Wallah! The familiar, ‘Bing,’ sprung in my ear and you can fill in the details. He was back and Old Dependable would stick around for seven more years.
      It was the cord, I was able to determine later with the right jiggle and much foreplay. However, when 2004 rolled around, I had to face another hard truth - it was time to retire my Macintosh Classic II. He simply couldn’t adjust to the new technology. (I outgrew him.)
       What did I do? I called the folks at Apple Computers. While others accused customer service agents of tricking them into buying naughty personal computers over the years, rigging the hardware to crash, and imagined conspiracies in the technical support departments, I wished I could send Apple’s customer service agents’ firstborn through college and I bragged to all my friends, “I’m buying an Apple.”
        The love affair continued. It was love at first sight when I opened the box. Yes, I was hoping to find myself a man in the New Year, but far be it for me to complain now that I have my PowerBook. Between the instinctive operating system, easy navigation features and the user-friendly design, Iet’s just say if I had to choose, don’t ask me who I would kick out of bed. New Reliable, that’s my PowerBook. So what if he thinks it’s 1969? 1969 was a good year. The United States, USSR and about 100 other countries signed the nuclear non-proliferation treaty. Man landed on the moon. The scanning electron microscope was developed. Anyway, it's the printer software again.  I think.  In all fairness, I can't expect him to do everything, can I?
  No one’s perfect , except maybe the folks in Apple Computer’s technical support department. After failing to fix the problem myself (with heartfelt entreaties), I called Apple. Unable to help me with my problem, the agent said he was going to transfer me to someone else. Disgruntled, I hung up the phone and two minutes later they called me back!
    “Jo Ann, how are you doing?” Jason, the Apple support technician, asked me.
    “I’m frustrated,” I pouted.
     “I know,” he soothed me and after a little while, we worked things out. I hung up the phone and could do what else, but sigh? What can I say? Some people will always have Paris. I’ll always have my Apple computer.

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