My new computer arrived the other day and I gingerly removed him from his protective packaging. His online photos didn’t do him justice; he was even more attractive in real life. Even my kids said he was cool.
For the time being, I set him on the coffee table, across from the computer desk (and old computer) in order to expedite the process of information transfer. The two screens sat facing each other – as though engaged in a heavy debate – and I experienced a twinge of guilt mixed with a certain amount of excitement as I went from one machine to the other, moving files and folders from old to new.
I found myself humming Dueling Banjos as I switched back and forth in a veritable frenzy of cutting, copying, pasting and back-ups. Out with the old, in with the new. My high-performance, technologically advanced computer shimmered in its own brilliant uncompromised vibrancy and I couldn’t help but wonder if Old Faithful (who as of late hadn’t been so faithful) felt just a smidgen of terabyte envy. I’m sure he would have, if computers had feelings.
After installing software, transferring emails, contact lists, bookmarks, music, photos, videos and movies, the set up process was complete and it was time to make the final, physical move. I unplugged Old Faithful and hoisted him onto the coffee table.
For a moment, the two computers sat within inches of each other. I prepared to move the new guy to his new location, but in a spur of the moment decision, grabbed Old Faithful instead. I carried him into another room, to a pleasant spot, near a window, away from the hoopla. He’d been a good friend for seven years. No need for him to have to witness his replacement firsthand. I owed him at least that much. Out with the old.