factfour: port exchange

bridging the computer intimidation gap by shattering the "delicate machine" myth.

Perhaps I lunged my way into the office and obliterated whatever current atmosphere existed.

Some maybe 10th grade students, huddled in a corner around a NEC monitor from about 12 ad. It creaked out a fuzzy, battered database image that swooned in a sparsely pixelated land working its transformer into an audible frenzy. As everyone in the room turned to see who had just blundered into the room I could feel the radiation leaking out of the screen and into the immediate atmosphere my eyes warping to polar ends of my skull.

"are you the tech guy?!!? I mean,...." trailed off as the meaning of my appearance beat the councilor senseless. Suddenly all the tenuous curriculum mandates, progress reports and IEP's might simply vanish behind that screen, never to return; possibly sending this post-retirement biddy into a permanent paxil rage.

I dismissed the crew of GPA bookies and got down to business forging an inter-personal relationship with the madam and her blackbox typewriter. I started off with the typical folksy boast: lets see if we can get this little lady to walk like an angel......... soft and strong. Luckily it was the end of the day and that gave the woman a moment to shudder and check the time, generally the more positive of the responses I get. She lifted one hand onto the opposing shoulder and hugged herself as she asked,

" please make it stop, because if it turns black one more time today there will be police booking me on adolescent manslaughter...."

I proceeded to grapple the desk and haul it's 1970' pine carcass out from the wall; there are some benefits to being a lumbering hulk. I stood in eyeshot of the back and recognized that chassis anywhere, an old compaq d530 small form factor. notorious for the shoddy effort put into the mainboard and bus. This model was issued with an incompatible graphics chipset and there was only one thing to do. I took the mouse and covered it with my hand flashing a toothy grin to my client, in seconds I had uninstalled the stock graphics driver and inserted the hardware back into the profile manually. This is sometimes known as 'pushing back' against the operating system. finishing the cleanup into the reboot I began with the CRT monitor. Com'er love I said as I just pulled the 50 pounds of glass, circuits and plastic on its side, ramming a .03 flathead into the sharpness adjustment well. I then pulled every cord out of its corresponding port, letting the loose cables dangle between my legs like a mess of whipsnakes. I pulled each cord up and with a precise firm hand joined male and female port connections to the back of the computer - letting the friction of metal contact be machined in solid unison. settling back into the wall on my heels I pulled the desk back into place and rolled the screen back into it's native position. As the image of the cheesy logo came up she audibly gasped and swallowed air. The picture had pitch now, it was not shaking or fuzzy, and the colors were sharp and modest. slowly putting her hand on the mouse she navigates to the graduation database and smiles.

"you know a mac wants to be babied,.... but PC's, you just got to show em whos boss every now and again." this was the topmost layer of the thick buttercream folksy persona, I had her, and so I just blew the moneyshot out and turned to leave; tripping over the backpacks in the hall on my way out.