“Mainboard failure…Not cost effective to repair.” With this diagnosis, the patient (were “the patient” a sentient being) declines further treatment.
Am I being melodramatic when I say that hearing these words yesterday after my MacBook Pro, 2010 edition, was assessed by a trusted computer expert (who had already added RAM and upgrades to keep the patient alive over the past five years) made me sad? Probably a bit, but the feeling of loss is real and marks the end of a long, productive working relationship, a companionship. I have had friends whose reliability is far more questionable.
When I decided to apply to Rutgers Graduate School of Education Educational Technology certification program, my faithful “White Wonder” (WW) of a Mac was insufficient for the task. Part of the program would require video production among other demands that it could not accommodate. Off to Best Buy I went to exchange the WW, emerging with what I named the “Silver Bullet” in February, 2014.
And this faithful, upgradable Mac served me well throughout the course of the program and beyond. It made the move cross country with me, safe in its spongy pink sleeve. That same sleeve had held it securely from one community college classroom to another for three years. A couple of times it hit the carpeted floor, bouncing back without a moan. This intrepid machine was a born survivor.
When we were enlisted to teach online in the fall of 2020, the “Bullet” and I rose to the challenge. Granted I purchased an iPad for backup, for my reading and writing conference rooms, but the main actor was my Pro. After we ended that year, I realized how utterly smitten I was. Every morning I’d say a small thank you to the familiar sound of startup.
These past few months, though, small changes manifested themselves: pixelation during Zoom meetings; refusal to stay on after start-up; overheating after regular use. Until…the “Silver Bullet” refused to fire.
If you’ve had the good fortune to read Kazuo Ishiguro’s tender, heartbreaking, and complex novel Klara and the Sun, then you know that real feelings can be spawned by the artificial. It is the robot Klara who brings the reader to tears, her desire for the light and warmth of the sun a visceral longing.
I know—it’s just a machine. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel. When I went to pick it up today, my computer tech was sympathetic. I told him I’d come back with the Bullet, and its replacement when I finally felt ready, so he could transfer data—a fresh start. For now, however, the iPad, a poor relative, will have to do.
Jump off; Find Wings 
Trish, I feel – and fear – your pain; my MacBook is from 2012 and I am very attached to it. It has begun to do a variety of ‘exhausted’ behaviors, and I am on edge as to how long I will have with it. Your line, “I have had friends whose reliability is far more questionable.” – ha! This made me chuckle! Yes, we set these laptops up, fill them with our words, and they have been so solid in this task. I hope the transition to a new computer goes smoothly.
I am sorry for your loss. We come to depend on our machines. We know their workings and the ideocracies. We know what they can and cannot do. When it “dies” we feel its loss. You and your Silver Bullet have been through a lot together. Hope your search for a replacement goes well and that your new one serves as well and as faithfully as your old one did.
I love the opening line . The rest is just perfect, too! Thanks.
A colleague of mine has a similar relationship with his MacBook Pro. The words “the end of a long, productive working relationship, a companionship” made me think about how much time I do spend on my laptop. It is like a trusted confidante.
We really do come to depend on our machines! I totally understand feeling sentimental about all of the work you’ve done together, all the changes you’ve gone through together, all the ways you kept it together using your Pro.