The Truth about my Laptop

My laptop is an asshole who hates me and is plotting my demise.

On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday my laptop has no problem talking to the printers in my office. It will call the magical plastic boxes and ask of them whatever I need. After a brief chat with my laptop, pages filled with my words and diagrams flow from the printers like coffee from the pot.

But on the one day I actually need something printed, Friday, the day I am required to turn in my timesheet, my laptop refuses to speak the printers it has been so neighborly with all week. After I make my request, my laptop responds with snide disdain, “Printers? I don’t know any printers. And even if I did, I’d never stoop so low as to associate with that kind of riff-raff.”
“It’s okay,” my boss says. “Just print your timesheet off on Monday.”

But because my laptop is a mean son-of-a-bitch, on Mondays it refuses to speak to the printers as well. “Just leave me alone,” my laptop whines with a hungover slur. “It’s Monday. I’m not speaking to those bitches on a Monday.”

So I am forced to send a copy of my time-sheet to my boss and ask her to print it off for me. To which she always replies, “I thought I told you last Monday to get that fixed?”

So I send a request to Tech Support and ask them to force my laptop to speak to the printers, but they can’t get to it until Tuesday, which is when my laptop decides to begin associating to my printers again, making me look like a crazy person when I try to explain to Tech Support. “I promise! Yesterday he called them bitches and said he wouldn’t associate with them.”

“Huh?” Tech Support replies, giving me a look like I’m insane.

But I’m not insane.

My laptop is an asshole who hates me and is plotting my demise.

I’m a naturally anxious person. Having a routine in the morning helps me stay level and focused at work. Therefore, when I sit down at my desk, I need everything to work how it is supposed to work or my entire day is in jeopardy.
My laptop knows this about me, but instead of helping me, it will intentionally frustrate me for its own amusement.

I begin each morning by docking my laptop in its station on my desk. I press its power button and it’s screen blinks on. It flashes me a menacing smile. “Good morning, Jeff,” it says. “Let’s get your day started off on a good foot. You wanted all this crap you never use to open now, right?”

Then the insanity begins. GoToMeeting searches for connectivity, Google Hangouts struggles to find its source, protection software I didn’t know I had attempted to launch, Spotify starts to blink for no reason, and Dell tells me there are updates available for applications I’ve never heard of.

“I just want to read my email,” I complain as I close the unwanted applications, but each window I close opens three more. As I battle the nonsense, I can hear the soft satisfied purr of my laptop mocking my pain.

After what feels like an eternity, my laptop will grow tired of this game and allow me to take control. Relieved to finally be able to start my day, I will glance at my email, fill my coffee mug, turn on some music, and start to work through my task list. Because I work in an office, I wear headphones out of respect to my coworkers.

Knowing that my laptop is a mean son-of-a-bitch, I plug my headphones into it with fear and trembling. Before putting the earbuds into my ears, I turn my laptop’s volume all the way down. Then I press play on the first song and slowly raise the volume of my laptop to a comfortable level.

But, without fail, when I go to take my first sip of coffee my laptop will play a commercial at three times the volume I had selected. Even though I know it is coming, the shock causes me to choke on my coffee and curse loudly as I rip the earbuds from my ears.

A coworker will then appear at my door looking nervous. “Are you alright?” he says. “I heard you choking.

“My laptop is a sadistic son-of-a-bitch who is trying to rupture my eardrums,” I’ll reply.

“Okay?” my coworker says as he backs away from me as if I’m crazy.
But I’m not crazy.

My laptop is an asshole who hates me and is plotting my demise.

To keep me in a constant state of confusion and unease, my laptop makes sure the clock in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen is occasionally, but not always, running either five minutes behind or five minutes ahead. Rarely is it in sync with any other clock in my office.

Glancing at the clock, thinking I am late, I jump up from my seat, snatch my notepad and coffee mug, and race down the hall. Bursting into the conference room, I find that I am the first to arrive. I look up to the benevolent clock mounted to the wall. It would never lie to me about the time. It smiles back and informs me that I am five minutes early. “Laptop!” I scream in anger with my fist raised in the air.

Later that same day, my laptop waits to slow my clock until just before an important meeting occurs. It especially enjoys doing this before teleconferences I’m hosting.

Knowing when the conference is about to occur, I glance down at the clock on the right-hand corner of my screen. “Oh, I have five more minutes,” I say to myself. Please that I have more time, I decide to do some more editing before calling in.

When I call into the meeting, I find frustrated clients asking me why I am five minutes late.

“But my clock says…” I say defensively.

“No,” they all agree. “You are late, and we are now grumpy.”
Later my boss asks me how the call went and I have to say, “They were grumpy because I was late because my laptop hates me.”

She will look at me with sympathy. It is the look a sane person gives someone who is going crazy.

But I’m not going crazy.

My laptop is an asshole who hates me and is plotting my demise.

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