Why my computer is as slow as molasses

“Mother!”

I think I whined it. No, I’m fairly certain I whined. I whined out of impatience and exasperation. She was still on the computer, hours later, uploading pictures and chatting with strangers.

“You’re giving me viruses,” I told her, plopping down next to her on my sister’s bed.

“I’m not giving you viruses,” she responded, her eyes remaining glued to the computer screen. An error box suddenly popped up—for Internet Explorer, a browser I had uninstalled weeks ago.

“See?!” I said, pointing to the screen. “That’s a virus, and all the strange sites you visit are giving me more viruses.”

She pooh-pooh’d me, and went back to her web browsing. Only, my computer had mysteriously slowed down within minutes, and I watched her jab mercilessly at the built-in mouse (which was broken, I would later learn).

“You’re going to break my computer,” I said, my heart aching for the aging machinery (it’s only three years old, but Dell computers age at seven times dog years). My frustration frustrated her, and she surrendered the laptop, suggesting that I give it to my dad to fix.

My dad is something of a computer guru, or so I’ve been led to believe all my life. He even attended my current college years ago, taking programming classes. Yet, I hesitated. Not only did my computer contain sensitive material about my THOUGHTS and FEELINGS (about EVERYTHING), I wasn’t even sure if he could fix it, or if he’d ever give it back to me, unscathed.

Familial pressure got to me, and the next day, I shoved the computer into my ancient computer bag (okay, it’s also three years old) and handed it to my little sisters as they ran out the door to spend the weekend with dad. I had to resort to reading books and watching movies, like “Meet the Robinsons”, that I’ve already seen 15 times. Not having the Internet or even a word processing program made my brain work harder. I know, I know. Poor me! Ha.

With the weekend over, my sisters returned, sans computer.

“I’m still working on it,” said my father.

“It never left the car,” said my sisters.

“AGH!” said I.

Several days passed, and then, somehow, it was decided that I would go home Tuesday night, and my mother would drive me because she didn’t have work the next day. I called my father to find out where he was with the computer.

“Important clients … blah, blah … another computer with the same problem … blah … blah … still working on it.”

“Can you mail it to me?” I asked, not about to wait a few more days just to see if he could fix it.

He agreed, and I returned to Brooklyn. I used my roommate’s computer, and I ached for the people I’d left behind in Pennsylvania. Then, even more days later, he called me. “What’s your password?”

My mouth literally dropped open; I felt it. I password protected my laptop my sophomore year of college, when I had a psycho, unpredictable roommate. It was a simple password, and he should have been able to guess it from the hint.

I said, after a heavy moment of silence passed (a "pregnant pause"), “You didn’t even start?!”

“Important clients … blah, blah,” he said. “Blah, blah. What’s your password?”

I told him, my brain still stunned, for some reason. School was about to start, and I really, really needed my lap top back. Plus, I needed to start applying for real jobs, using limitless online resources.

I don’t think I said good bye at the end of that conversation. My computer had sat in his car or house for about a week and a half, and he hadn’t even turned it on. I was confused about why I’d even given it to him.

The weekend before school started, I escaped Brooklyn to visit my aunt and uncle in Jersey. On the way to the train, I stopped by the post office – I had a package slip; my computer had arrived.

My father packed it in a humungous box, and I carried that box, along with a duffel bag and a purse, all the way into the city and then onto the NJ transit train. People stared at me.

(That was new, because I’m usually invisible. Which would totally be my super power – real invisibility, not just the kind where people forget you’re there, trying to join the conversation. Would make a brilliant CIA agent, I think. ... moving on ...)

At my uncle’s house, I unpacked my computer and tried turning it on. That’s when I found that my computer, which had previously been able to pass as a spry 50 year old, was now 80 years old.

But, my dad had worked his magic. My computer was virus free, and now sporting a new software program that detected and deleted viruses. Every other day, it deletes at least seven more infections.

Some things just need time.