NOTE: Greg Schwem is an excellent corporate comedian and corporate entertainer. He is not a computer technician, despite what he thinks.
My dog’s incessant barking signaled the computer technician’s arrival at my front door. This time, I vowed, I would be ready.
Prior to his visit, I’d had exactly one encounter with an on-site, in-home, let-a-complete-stranger-probe-my-PC technician. It occurred in 1996, shortly after the arrival of Microsoft’s Windows 95 operating system, a landmark product that thoroughly confused every computer owner (me included). Within days after purchasing and (sort of) installing it, I was desperate for someone, anyone, to come to my house, and fix the problem that I could barely explain, seeing that my computer vernacular was, at the time, on par with my knowledge of a nuclear submarine’s electrical system.
“The little pointy arrow thing isn’t moving,” I distinctly remember telling the technician, who gently asked me if I was referring to the mouse. I was.
“Also, what’s the difference between a megabyte and a gigabyte?”
The technician fixed my system after “rebooting,” a term previously foreign to me but one I soon realized meant “$125 for 15 minutes of labor.”
Since then I vowed to learn as much as possible about computers, so I wouldn’t be beholden to the whims, not to mention the hourly rates, of outside help. I’ve researched how to perform system restores, upgrade to Windows 10 and back up my entire iTunes library. Then I’ve actually executed the tasks flawlessly, patting myself on the back in the process.
But when my computer failed to “boot up” recently, and I heard an unfamiliar three-beep sequence accompanied by an orange glowing power button, I reluctantly decided it was time to opt for a second in-home visit. Only this time I would make the tech earn his money.
“I ran the repair diagnostics tool and have screenshots of each session including the root causes,” I said as the technician entered my office. “Give me your cell and I’ll text you everything. I’ve run the disk defrag and scandisk tools but both came back clean. As you can see, I’ve unplugged all my peripherals. And if you have to wipe the hard drive, don’t worry; everything is backed up in the cloud. By the way, do you accept Apple Pay?”
“Have you tried rebooting the system?” the technician asked, thoroughly unimpressed with my improved computer vocabulary.
“Of course I rebooted the system. I don’t want to be charged $125.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Old joke.”
I waited while he tapped a few keys. “If you’re trying to start it in ‘safe’ mode, I already did that,” I said proudly.
“I assume you’ve taken a look inside the system?” he said finally.
“Sure. I told you I ran a diagnostics test on the whole PC,” I said.
“No. I mean, have you actually removed the cover and looked inside the system?’ he said. “You seem pretty tech savvy.”
“Uh no. How do I do that?”
“It’s one screw,” he said. “I’m guessing you might have a failing motherboard or maybe we need to reseat your video card. When was the last time you upgraded your video card?”
“I need to upgrade my video card?” I asked. “What about the cloud?”
“What about it?” he said. “The cloud has nothing to do with your issue.”
“Oh,” I said, now feeling about six inches tall.
The technician pulled a screwdriver from his pocket, removed the cover and sighed. “Here’s your problem,” he said.
“What? You can already tell?” I said.
“Yes. The fan is covered in dust. That’s what’s preventing the system from starting. You need to clean it out every now and then. Get a can of compressed gas. Ten bucks at Sam’s Club.”
He pulled a can from his bag and aimed it directly at the fan. Dust bunnies the size of actual rabbits flew into the air. He pressed the power button and the computer roared to life, minus the three beeps.
“All fixed,” he said. “That will be $175 and yes, we do accept Apple Pay. You’ll be receiving a short survey via email. I’d appreciate a good review.”
“Be happy to,” I said. “I’ll just click five stars with the pointy thing.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.”
