I'm a hard drive.

Sender: Lesliechen (kill me also don't say!), letter area: Campus_east
Title: I am a hard drive (ZZ)
Letter Station: BBS stand in the same boat (Wed June 7 13:27:53 2004), station

I'm a hard drive, st380021a, working in an ordinary desktop. People always think we are high-tech white-collar workers, clean and decent work, seems to be very beautiful. Maybe they just have this illusion because they see a nice, white chassis. In fact, like our small desktop, the working environment is cramped, the dust inside frighten dead. Daily life backwater, work mechanical repetition. Run the word processing to see the movie also live together, really want to meet what big software and games, up and down will be busy, and finally often to panic.

Our line of technology changes fast, almost every two or three years will be upgraded, so everyone is very stressful and insecure. Every new board comes with a high spirits and a few years of time, it becomes disgraced and depressed.

The people in the chassis were envious of the ability to work on other machines. Especially to those notebooks, often can travel and fly around, live five-star hotel, do not have to do heavy work, run Word, chat on the internet to do. And I prefer to go to those big servers and work in a particularly clean and bright room. Although the work time is long, but the welfare is good, 24-hour uninterruptible power supply, UPS, but also array, hot plug, a few people do a person's things, how easy ah. But also very face, only to run the key applications, unlike us here, what a mess of things to do. But I know that those hard drives are pretty good, not SCSI, SCSI II, Fibre Channel, and the IDE, like me, can get mixed up with workstations even if it's nice.

I often wonder if I would have been a SCSI or at least a laptop hard drive at the factory. But I think again, maybe these are fate. But I never complain. Memory often complains, complaining about the complexity of their motherboard department, complaining about how he is incompatible with the new memory, and how the NIC and TV card clash.

My friends are not many, memory count one. He's skinny and I'm fat, he moves fast, and I'm always slow. We are together this machine, he always said, and I just listen. I never say. Memory of the mind is very simple, although the English name is called memory, but he does not have any memory, the big thing sleep can forget the naked. I don't say, but I'll remember all the details. He said that my melancholy people do not cooperate in the technical work, sooner or later will be schizophrenic. I smiled because I believed in my capacity.

Sometimes I also like the job, simple, not as the display as the boss stare at all the way, and do not need to be like the CD-ROM to deal with the outside disc. As long as the document dealing with the line, nothing more than reading and writing, very simple quiet life.

Until one day, I still remember the lid of the gradual chassis, and the beam of light coming in from the gap grew wider and brighter. The air was filled with bouncing particles. At that time, I saw her. She was so slender and thin that the silvery shell flashed. All over the work is very delicate and smooth, so I can not help but ashamed of their clumsy. By the time the data line put us together, I was slow. On the turn of the moment, I felt the current and the usual difference. Later memory once laughed at me, said that we here as long as there are new people, the current will be different, the last new memory to do so. I think he's a bull. I try to stay calm, showing a very professional look, just a faint greeting to her and introduce the working environment.

Slowly, I know, she, ibm-djsa220, is a laptop hard drive, in the boss's friend's notebook to do things. This time to copy some files. We had a good chat. She told me a lot of interesting travels, telling me how to fly, how the bumps in the car were different, showing me a lot of beautiful photos, travels, and the adventures she fell off the table. And I'm showing off all kinds of stories and jokes that are downloaded from the Internet.

She had a good laugh. And I'm surprised I can say it all the time.

One morning, I saw the empty socket on the data line. She stayed for 7 days altogether. Later, I never saw her again. I'm a little sorry I didn't exchange emails or say good-bye to her. When I am not busy, I will miss the sunlight that has been shot into the chassis.

I do not know what the word memory means, I have only a lot of documents she left. I put them in neat rows and put them where I used to go most often. Every time the head is brushed from them, I feel a hint of comfort. But I didn't think the boss would want me to delete these files. I think there's plenty of room for argument, but it's no use. So, for the first time in my life, I secretly modified the file allocation table. Then they hid them in a secret place and marked them as bad sectors. No one is going to ask about bad sectors. And there, it became my only secret, I often go to see them, although never stop.

Day after day of repetition, read write, read write ... I thought it would go on forever, until one day the boss had to install XP but found there was not enough space.

He found the problem and tried to fix the bad sectors. I turned it down. Soon, I got a new command: format. I hesitated for a long time ... Track 0 bad, disk unusable.