IT’S a common sight after the festive season has ended—the piles of
empty PC and monitor boxes waiting for the bin men. Curiously the latest,
greatest features from the “must have” department of your local computer store
always appear just in time to entrap the unwary shopper during the gloomy
December weeks.
Not that your average nerdy household needs much persuading. That’s the
clever part: the pristine machines sit on the shelves looking sad and lonely,
waiting for someone to offer them the comfort and security of a loving home.
Only later, when they are displaced by even glitzier models with even faster
habits and undreamed-of tricks, will yesterday’s bright new PC come to
understand just how fickle the affections of humankind can be. How must our
poor, old, time-expired friend feel as it sees its nemesis being carried in
through the door? Your stolid, reliable companion of last year, whose
Jeeves-like devotion to duty and stern professionalism you used to praise to
your friends, now looks boring rather than brilliant compared with that racy
little laptop you’ve just picked up.
Of course, this multiplicity of hardware will not be universally welcomed by
the non-nerd members of the household. Less sympathetic partners lobby hard for
a “one in, one out” policy, only to be met with arguments about “emergency
reserve back-up systems”. The net result is enough PCs for the cat and the
hamster to have one each.
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But supposing you did yield to these domestic entreaties, what would you do
with all those abandoned plastic boxes? On environmental grounds, landfill is
out of the question. And it’s hardly a fitting end for such a loyal friend. But
old PCs left about the house are certainly not decorative, except in the most
bizarre postmodern sense.
Some people have managed to find them unusual new roles—aficionados of
science-fiction films will tell you that ancient motherboards make popular
props. Sprayed with camouflage paint, they regularly appear in the starships of
the—presumably desperately underfunded—Space Marines and their ilk.
Inventive motorists report that flat car batteries have been rejuvenated by the
cunning application of a PC power supply—but please don’t try this at
home. Perhaps the ultimate indignity is to be used as a self-heated
maggot-breeding plant by an ingenious, IT-literate fisherman. With a poor sense
of smell.
But whatever you ultimately do with them, do take some time to say goodbye
properly. Power them up one last time, revel in the speed with which they boot
and load that familiar old software. Thrill as you caress the warm keys that are
so responsive to your touch. Celebrate the experiences that you’ve shared (the
awful essays, abandoned theses, drafts of letters you lacked the nerve to send).
Listen to the purr of the fan and hard disc, sit back and relax in the
reassuring glow of the screen.
Now try to convince yourself that you can take your faithful old servant to a
recycling centre to be crushed and pounded for its precious metals.
How could you even think of it!