The Apple Store called my computer vintage today. If my six-year old computer is vintage, what is my 25-year old body… ancient? Good thing doctors don’t say, “Sorry, since you are 18 years of age we consider you vintage. We can give you a physical, but we can’t actually fix anything, you’ll have to go somewhere else for that.” Because apparently, that’s what vintage means at Apple. I guess I’m a proud owner of an antique in their eyes.
At least Apple is being considerate in allowing me six years to save up for a new computer, I mean, calling a computer vintage after five years would be ludicrous. I know, I know, all you techies out there are laughing at me right now — you think I should have upgraded three years ago. But I really, really like my computer. Yes, she’s a bit heavy (it actually feels like I’m carrying a small child in my backpack), but she has served me well; I’ve even fallen down the stairs (a late night during finals week) with her and she survived with minor bumps and bruises. I was swearing/crying in heap at the bottom of the stairs mostly because I was worried all of my hard work would be gone; slightly concerned I would have to call my Dad and tell him my clumsiness broke my computer; and lastly because it kind of hurt (meanwhile, both my roommates were at the top of the stairs laughing at me, FYI). But she worked like a charm. That, my friend, is a high quality machine… and a high quality plastic cover.
That cover saved my life that night. Literally. I would have died if I lost all my finals work.
Ok, I’m being dramatic.
But to all my uncoordinated readers, I urge you to consider a hard plastic cover. Just in case you ever fall down the stairs.
I guess I’ll start emptying my piggy bank.