So there I was, dragging an old Dell on a handtruck all the way down Boston Ave. to Davis Square. My boss had kindly given it to me to donate to the Boys and Girls Club that I volunteer at. I wanted to give it to them ASAP to replace the computer that one of their employees is currently stuck with. The machine that he’s running right now is so old and slow that it can’t even handle his email.
So, because I am a tree hugging hippie that would rather ride the bus than drive (Lies! I just can’t afford a car), I was faced between leaving the computer in my office until I could get somebody to drive it to the club or dragging it on the T myself.
I chose to borrow a handtruck and cart the damn thing myself.
I had never realized how many cracks there were in those sidewalks. My mom must break her back several times a day because I step on a lot of cracks during my walk to work. Remarkable powers of healing that woman has. She never complains to me.
Everytime the handtruck hit a bump, I pictured myself showing up at the club saying “Well, I had this nice computer for you, but now it’s more like a lot of little shards of black plastic. Maybe you can get the kids to do some art projects with the remnants.” It’s the thought that counts. Right?
But, despite the fact that I am the world’s klutziest human being pretty much ever, I managed to get the computer all the way to Davis without causing any damage to it, myself or others. I wish that all of my walks were that successful. Apparently the key to me not falling over things and injuring myself is that I need to haul around more expensive equipment. Ok, so a four year old PC is not exactly worth that much… but you know what I mean.
The trip on the Red Line was a bit stinky (I had to take not one, but three elevators and the MBTA is not exactly known for keeping things smelling urine free) but otherwise uneventful. I did get a lot of dirty glares from my fellow passengers… apparently a computer on a handtruck is something to be sneered at. Of course, being forced to deal with the MBTA does tend to predispose people towards giving each other the hairy eyeball.
Kristian was sweet enough to meet me at South Station so that I didn’t have to haul the computer all the way from the T to the club. God that boy is awesome. One of these days I am going to wake up to discover that he is actually a robot. Or an axe murderer. Nobody is that perfect.
Club was pretty uneventful tonight. Oh, except for the part where I accidentally exposed a small and innocent nine year old girl to some nasty pornography. It was an accident! A total accident! I swear!
We were working together to make a collage in photoshop. She wanted it to be all pictures of Gir from Invader Zim. So, we did a google image search. And then she clicked on “View Full Sized Image” on one of the search results…
Oh god. I can’t tell you exactly what it was because my hand shot up to block the monitor so fast I’m surprised y’all didn’t hear the sonic boom. I can tell you that it involved several large penises (penii?) and an open mouth. There was nothing about penises in the thumbnail! Apparently this person had gotten angry at people linking directly to their picture. So, they did some clever web tricky to change the link to that picture (innocent picture! totally innocent picture!) to that of the nastiness. With big bold text that read “This is what happens when you steal my art.”
Wow, you really showed that nine-year-old but good. If you hadn’t stepped in and shown her the error of her ways she might have grown up to download the latest songs on limewire and bit torrent all of her movies. It was a slippery slope, but you put her on the path to righteousness. And nothing got hurt but her small and fragile psyche.
Now I see why people want to keep kids off them thar intarwebnets. Google image search is like a gateway drug. Sure you start off looking for pictures from a children’s cartoon show. But, the next thing you know… *bam!* Penis City. It’s only a matter of time before that poor little girl is doing extensive searches for pr0n.
Luckily nine-year-olds have memories equivalent to those of goldfish. My hand covered up the offending image, she went back to her collage. It’s like it never happened. We will never speak of this again.
I carried a pizza on the T once…everyone asked me if they could have a piece. Random strangers who apparently were never told…”don’t take pizza from strangers”. You carry a computer and nobody asks if they can have it.