I’ve heard computer assistants kind of have a reputation as Yale’s pool boys. We’re who you call when your boyfriend’s not around. I wish I had a shekel for every time I’ve been asked “Here, why don’t you come over here and see if I’m plugged in tight–“
But in reality, that’s something of a misconception. Rather than being the gigolos everyone thinks we are, we basically show up and fix mundane computer problems; problems like the popular “my-illegal-mp3s-make-my-computer-run-slow” or the “these-animal-porn-popup-windows-keep-freezing-my-computer.” You see, the other day I found that being a CA means more than anonymous promiscuity.
I was in Swing Space on a house call to repair someone’s laptop. His roommate and he had purchased the same model through a company I will not specify. (Hint: it starts with “G” and ends with “ateway.”) Both computers shared the same setup; both of them had diligently installed the popular productivity suite of Snood, KaZaa and IM. But there was a grave difference. Person A’s machine worked fine; he had even achieved a score in Snood that I considered ridiculous for a freshman. But Person B’s computer wouldn’t even boot into “Safe Mode” (a mode a good CA knows all about).
I understood the problem immediately. While Person B wanted to attribute it to something called a “virus,” I was quick to instill in them some sophomoric wisdom. It’s a fact that not many will readily admit to, but in life there are people who live blessed existences. I’m not talking about Nicky he’s-so-rich-he-uses-DISPOSABLE-cell-phones Vanderbilt, or KiKi I-once-ate-dinner-with-Joey-from-Friends Lanman-Wright.
I’m not even talking about P. Diddy (it’s not like you need a permit to wash your Escalade in Cristal champagne). I’m talking about modern-day supermen; they are to regular people as Abercrombie is to American Eagle.
It turns out that some people somehow got to supersize their existence on earth. The option wasn’t available to everyone, and it’s not as though it’s a meritocracy — you simply have it or you don’t. Don’t bother wishing on eyelashes, wishbones or any other cast-off bodily tissue, it’s not going to work. Trust me. It’s been on my to-do list for a while: 1. Buy books. 2. Wish dad a happy birthday. 3. Develop a meaningful relationship with a person of the opposite sex. 4. Become an ubermensch. But it never gets accomplished (actually 3 doesn’t either), somehow it gets neglected at the cost of doing laundry and getting photos developed.
Swing Space provides a perfect example. You see, there is no reason that Person B should get a “virus” over Person A. But that’s the way it happens. For Person A normal probability is suspended. This guy is immune to so-called “viruses.” I mean if these guys were to leave their respective cars on Tower Parkway, Person A could leave his car in a handicapped spot next to a fire hydrant while Payne Whitney Gymnasium burned down; he wouldn’t get a ticket. When Person A comes back, lo and behold, the firemen, unable to get to the fire, have instead washed his car and in fact his car has never looked better. Person B nervously leaves his car on the street, walks over to Payne Whitney to see if he can help, walks back and finds a $75 ticket. “Coincidentally,” Person B has parked there during the one hour of street cleaning for the entire week. But you see it’s not a coincidence. That’s just the nature of Person B. He just got “Person B’ed on.”
It’s not as though you have a say; one must realize and accept one’s fate. People who say “it could go either way” are living a lie. When it comes down to it, the cookie crumbled long ago, and now those crumbs are stuck between the cushions of Person B’s couch.
I’ve had people saying it’s a self-confidence thing, that my glass is really half full. Well if my cup has anything in it, it’s because I’m holding it for Person A while he hooks up with my sister.
“Wait, shouldn’t you be using birth control?”
“Dude, the pull-out method has NEVER failed me.”
Of course. How silly of me.
In basketball they talk about “the zone.” Like the night Jordan scored 63 points. He was in the zone. Or the time Vince Carter put his arm through the rim. Yeah, he was in the zone. But see for Person A that’s how his life is, he is always in “the zone.”
If you’re wondering, here are some examples: Any person on a skateboard is Person A. Tony Hawk and Johnny Knoxville are both the Person A-type. Your typical Person B knows better than to step on a skateboard because of the inevitable “freak” accident. Basically skateboards are the barometer for A/B type: B is going to break both wrists even if he doesn’t fall down. The powers that be don’t take kindly to such Person B hubris;
Person A: “Dude, nice moves out there, gimme five,”
Person B: “Yeah — Oooowwch”
Person A: “Dude, you alright? That sounded like you just broke both your wrists.”
Any instance of stupid stuff that could get you hurt will always end up with the Person A unscathed (“I don’t know how he did it–“) and put Person B in traction. Oh, you want an example of Person B? Well, that would be everyone in Morse and Stiles, and anyone that read this article.
Will Garneau ’05 missed watching Pokemon to write this column.