The Keyboard Goes Jingle Jangle Jingle

February 1, 2007 at 11:51 PM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
  So there I was, minding my own business, and even working.  Suddenly, from out of nowhere, someone comes along, sneaks up behind me, and spills my bowl of cereal on my keyboard.  They left quickly, before I could identify them.  No, no license number either.  It was a hit-and-run.  Swear to God it was, man.
  You callin’ me a liar?
  So, I grab some napkins I keep handy for just such an occasion.  Not the tissues, which are different; those are for when I unexpectedly break down in tears.  It happens a couple of times a day.  I mean week.  I mean month.  I mean in never happens.  To me.  Because I am a man.  And don’t you forget it.  Why’d you even bring it up?
  So I sop up the milk, then get another napkin and gingerly try to clean the nooks and crannies, the crevices and what-have-you, of my keyboard.  I think I did an okay job.  Most of it came out when I turned the keyboard upside-down and poured the milk out.  Little pieces of Cheerio came out as well.  So did a guy in a tiny rowboat. . .
  The EPA came out, verified the cleanup, gave me a fine for several bajillion dollars, and then I was set to continue.  Aaaahhh.  So I return to the keyboard.
  Bnut’ ther kkey7booa rdsd wqon”t6 cooop[e4rasrtee?  Bbbbuuttoonssz saeem toooooooo stick.  KKEEYYYS tyathat IO dddidddn’;’trr p[ressssr starrrtt to hihitty.  The period sticks……………………  then it stops  COmpletely  I press 6 and I get 6.  But I also get a 9.  I wonder if it’s some sort of subliminal sexual innuendo?  Every time I hit the a    or the q     I get a tab a    nd end up not a    t a    ll where I wanted to be.  And I can’t backspace; it doesn’t work.
  Me so fucked it ain’t even funny.  Well. . .maybe a little.  I call IT.  After the guy gets done laughing, he says he’ll send one right up.  Then the younger dude shows up with the keyboard.  "You know how to put this in?"
  I should have had him do it, the smart ass.  Of course I knew.  I had just spent six years in junior college getting a two-year degree in computers.  Did I know how. . . ? I close all my programs, shut down, and slowly get on my knees and get under the desk.  I unplug the old one, then go through the arduous process of running the cord from the new one towards the back, through the hole, around the wires, and to the back of my box, my PC.  I grunt getting up, and look around to make sure no one saw me.
  I turn that bad puppy on, and look at me!  Here I am, typing again!  Whoo-hoo!  I call IT again, and say, "Yo, man, sorry about that.  I got it fixed.  Should I take this home, take it apart and clean it with alcohol and q-tips?"
  He said, "Uhm, no.  Do you have a trash can handy?"
  "Can you just place it in there for me?  Thanks."
  Initially it seemed like a waste ("Jimmy, there are poor kids in Africa without internet access–"), but I recall my own dealings with peripherals, I can order a keyboard for about 3 dollars.  I look at my sleek, shiny black new one, silent, efficient, light-weight–and then back at the giant beige monster in the trash.  I sigh the sigh of relief, and of moving on, and of "There, but for the grace of God, go I–"
  And I ponder. . .the temporariness of our society, the disposable attitude, the landfills filling up with computer parts and diapers–where will it end?  Where will it all end? 
  I wonder if I can pour something on my monitor and get a new flat screen. . .


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