My husband is really, really smart.*
He builds computers all by himself — he even made us our very own digital cable box & DVR. He knows what RAM is, and where to put it. He gets excited about things from Amazon & Micro Center like I do at Target and DSW. I think this is impressive behavior, given he has an art degree.
*There are a few things he doesn’t understand. Like my obsession with Joss Whedon. Or the difference between Usher and Kanye. Or anything that airs on Bravo. Or my love affair with 90210 (both new, and classic). Also, song lyrics are not his strong suit.
So, the other day when he told me he ordered some servers (some who now?) to replace the server he built for himself (ok, then?) and to share with his friend and update some stuff for his parents (I think I understand?) I was all, “ok, whatevs.” Because once he gets going on a computer-related roll, I really just hear the teacher from Charlie Brown.
Anyway — the other night I found him in the garage, with these enormous computery boxes, and he was trying to tell me everything all the little pieces on the inside do. Like, this. It looks super important. And I have no idea what it does.
Before I met Mike, I lived with my ex-bf for almost three years. His skill set was limited to watching Nascar races, and accusing me of sleeping with other people. Also, he would build houses on occasion.
So, one day I came home and he told me that there was something wrong with my laptop. The battery wasn’t holding a charge. But that he was going to take it in to someone to have it looked at. Ok then.
The following day, he came home — laptop under his arm — all pissed off. Best Buy was too expensive, he said, and the place he found online looked shady, and “too Arab.” (whatever that means). So he decided to fix the problem himself.
He’d determined that the problem had to do with the jack where the power cord plugged in. You know. This thing.
I asked him if he knew what he was doing. It had been my experience he couldn’t hang a picture correctly, so to say I was a little wary about him taking my computer apart was an understatement.
He assured me he knew what he was doing, then we got in a fight, so I left him to it — after informing him he’d be replacing it if he ruined it.
An hour or so later, I went back to check on his progress.
What I found was horrifying.
My entire computer had been taken apart. Teeny tiny computer chips were laying all over the coffee table, jumbled together with screwdrivers, motherboards, and various other pieces that hadn’t seen the light of day since it left the factory. You know, because they’re not supposed to.
I (very colorfully, I’m sure) told him it was in his best interest to put it back together the way that it was, and I left, again.
Another hour or so went by, and I wanted to watch something on the good TV, which was in the same room he was working. So, I headed back to the Family Room — and was surprised to find the laptop reassembled, and seemingly functional.*
Naturally, I inquired about the cause of the problem.
“Oh, yeah. I figured out what the problem was.” He said, verrrry sheepishly.
“… Ooook. So, what was it?”
“… The surge protector wasn’t plugged in.”
Seriously?! Yes, seriously. He never actually checked to see if it was plugged into the wall.
*And the laptop? It was… ok. In that it still turned on, and did things. But the jack/power adapter connection was forever ruined. You had to balance it on a book, find the sweet spot with the cord, and then you could never, ever move it again, or the battery would die. It was horrible.