Zip, Zero, Zilch

Streetlight in Florence, Italy

Zip, zero, zilch. That's what's left of the contents of the virtual nuts and bolts of your professional, creative and personal lives after your computer crashes because of a virus, a thunderstorm or whatever. Which means that your hard drive has been wiped clean. (Funny how computers are the only "living” things that can actually return to the virginal state after having previously lost it.)You are now completely helpless. And hysterical.

If, like me, you are the ultimate computer nerd, you'd thought like those teenagers who believe they’re immortal: it could never happen to me, only to others. Last month proved me wrong: it happened. I crashed. Or rather my cybernetic heart and soul did. After the ominous humming, clicking, whirring, and final spasms of electronic agony came to an abrupt end, I wound up with

zip, zero, zilch.  Yelling "What the !#$%^&* is going on?" did absolutely no good to induce a resurrection of all the files I had lost. Everything was gone...

After lavishly crying, panicking and swearing I’d never again use one of those !#$%^&* things, I attempted to emulate Humpty-Dumpty. Not being -- as you may have guessed -- what you'd call a computer jock, I availed myself of the services of local experts to minister to my diseased hard drive. This came in the person of a young wizard, who looked young enough to be studying for his eighth-grade finals. 

The first thing he did when he walked in was to ask, in the painfully inarticulate young people’s lingo: "Got Mac or PC?" I didn’t know if he was asking for macaroni and cheese (aren’t teenagers always hungry?) or trying to identify my equipment. How am I supposed to check, I thought, when my screen is black and silent, and nothing is blinking?

"Ne’r mind," he muttered loquaciously. After inserting a disk into the front of the CPU (I have learned a few technical words), he attacked my keyboard with touching fervor. Fascinated, I watched the choreography of the white hieroglyphics on the black screen. Wow, I thought; just think, there are people who actually understand what all this is about and how it works! I gained new respect for Wonder Boy. His technical skills seemed to almost adequately compensate for his abysmal lack of verbal proficiency. 

"Where's your disks?", he grunted. I wittily retorted: "Would you prefer cervical, thoracic or lumbar?", but I realized I had clearly gone beyond his comfort zone when I saw his eyes glaze over in utter puzzlement. 

“Am I supposed to know?" I answered sheepishly.

"Well, yeah, like," the boy genius mumbled back at me, looking as if looking for an escape route, "you know, like, when you first got your computer, I mean, what'd you do with the stuff somebody, like, must have, sort of, installed on your hard drive?" Not sure of what I was looking for, and while Junior patiently waited, scrutinizing the various artwork and pictures of all my friends and family hanging on the walls of my office, I searched and rummaged in various dark places until I was able to produce the desired evidence.

While putting back in all the "stuff" that had disappeared during the crash, i.e. "re-loading the operating system and applications programs" (there, now, aren’t you impressed?), he remained silent, except for periodic and somewhat inarticulate comments about "backing up" and “saving.” By the time young Einstein left my house, I had learned what he meant: copying on data sticks (or blanks discs if you are one of those cyber dinosaurs who still use floppies, as they were called) everything I write on my computer every day, to save them from sudden death should my hard drive regain its virginity once more.

My PC whirred again, Windows and Word were re-loaded, and my screensaver, printer, e-mail, internet browser, firewall, and anti-virus softwares (did I forget anything?) stood ready to once more orchestrate my life. I would have done Microsoft proud. All was well, and all the little boxes and flags and squares and myriad little doodads (icons, are they?) appeared right where they should.

However, everything else was still gone, including my e-mail address book. I was literally paralyzed in all aspects of my cyber life, looking at zip, zero, zilch. Totally overwhelmed, I collapsed on the couch, unable to face what was next.

Putting them back together was such an ordeal that I solemnly vowed I would never-go-through-this-again-so-help-me-God. If you’re like me, you’ll never reach the level of technological sophistication that will permit you to recover single-handedly from another crash. You’ll probably always need a wizard (or possibly your nine-year old grandson?), to do his magic tricks on your equipment (I am talking about your computer, here). However, I know that the above will help you become functional again, while saving face, time and money, and without feeling like a dispossessed orphan on the way to a refugee camp.

To avoid a nervous breakdown next time a loss of power, a virus, or lightning decides to play God with my computer and havoc with my life, I drew a list of the five foolproof remedies against the zip-zero-zilch syndrome:

SAVE!  - BACK UP! - SAVE! - BACK UP! - SAVE!

May you always remember to do it. Every time. Amen