My computer is fixed and on the way home. Normally, this would be a good thing. It’s not.
The techno-loser at the under-warranty-repair-place called me: Miz Keller, it turns out that it’s not your motherboard. You have a corrupt operating system.
Techno-loser-repair-person: So we need your permission to wipe your computer.
Me: Oh, right. (Yes, I’m really clever.) I made an image of my computer on an external hard, so I guess that will be okay. (I ignore niggling anxiety that tells me I’m missing something.)
Techno-loser (who no doubt knows what I’m missing): So we can wipe it?
Me: Uh, yes.
Techno-person: Thanks. (hangs up)
Niggling anxiety smacks me in the face with the truth of the situation.
I email techno-daughter at work. “My computer has a corrupt OS. They’re doing a wipe. I’m now in serious kim chee, right? Because when I restore the image, I’ll be restoring the corrupt OS, right?”
Techno-daughter emails me back while waiting for the work computers to compile(?) her new math equations so the work computers can reach programming nirvana: “Yes.”
Clearly, my scream was quite loud. Techno-daughter emails. “Don’t panic.” (Too, too late) “Just make recovery disks of the OS when the computer arrives. Then load the image. Then save every file you want to the external hard drive or Dropbox. Then, do a system wipe and recovery. Then, reload saved files. No big deal.”
Me: Seriously. No big deal. If you don’t hear from me in the next two months, it’s because I’m still in the process of fixing my computer.