Why a 20 minute computer fix takes a week to complete

The very worst thing that could happen to a news editor in my position happened about two weeks ago. My home computer died.

It was early in the morning, like 5:30 a.m., an unusual hour for me to be voluntarily awake. I was about to transfer a whole bunch of stuff onto a CD for inclusion in that week’s issue, when I heard a small pop and my computer, without even a whine or a whimper, suddenly went dead.

I didn’t immediately panic. The surge protector may have been tripped.

Nope.

Well, maybe it’s a fuse somewhere on the back of the computer.

I check. There isn’t one. But I do notice a faint whiff of ozone, which is not a good sign.

But hey, maybe it’s magnetic lock. I’ve never seen that happen while a computer is running, but wouldn’t that be great? Just unplug everything and replug it back in, and if that’s what’s up, it will work.

That isn’t what’s up.

So now I’m reaching the very unhappy pre-dawn conclusion that I’ve just blown my computer’s power supply. If it isn’t that, it’s worse, and I’ve just fried my motherboard, I figure.

I decide the best course of immediate action is to brew another cup of cappuccino and contemplate the situation.

The power supply is the most likely scenario, which is relatively good, since that means the computer’s memory is intact, and it’s a pretty easy fix, if you’ve got the part.

So I call up “Romeo’s” (so named because that’s what it says on the tower case) architect, my little brother, who built the beast for me a few years ago.

I ask what the specs are for my power supply. He tells me he might be able to replace the part for me sometime next week. I say, “No, no, you don’t understand. That’s really sweet, and I appreciate it, but I can’t wait ‘til next week. I need this thing working tonight. Give me the specs on what power supply I need to buy. I’m hitting Circuit City on my way back to Easton from the office, and I’ve got a date with a screwdriver and Romeo after that. I’m fixing this beast tonight.”

So he gives me the specs—a 20-pin, 300-400 watt power supply should do it. It should be about $15 if I buy it online, and a whole lot more in person. (Yes, compugeeks, I’m still in the dark ages.)

Great. I don’t know exactly what that is, but I’m going to acquire one pronto. (Laugh it up, eggheads.)

The thought of having to rewrite and edit everything that is stuck on my non-operative computer in a dark industrial park office makes the price tag a pretty moot point. I decide that even if it’s $75 at a retailer, that’s worth the night’s sleep.

For the record, at a retailer, it’s about $50. But that’s only if they have such an antiquated item actually in stock. Two Staples and a Circuit City failed to turn up the requisite item.

A phone call to Easton Electronics confirmed that having someone do the repair for me would be in the neighborhood of $125 or a bit more, and still, the repair would not be complete before deadline.

So, I bit the bullet, did what needed doing, and ordered the part online.

It was $12.95. Shipping was either $11.40, if I’d like it to arrive sometime in the next three days, or $8.90 if I didn’t care if it arrived until sometime after the spring thaw. I definitely cared, so I chose the $11.40 option. I’d have paid a lot more than that, if they could have beamed it directly onto my doorstep, ala Star Trek, at that point.

So, four days later, (Why is there a law that dictates that the more you need something NOW, it must be delayed in transit?), a box arrives at my office. I put that week’s paper to bed and tell my boss that I am leaving because I have an overdue date with a screwdriver.

I take the sides off the tower and am immediately glad neither my brother nor a pro is doing this job. There is a carpet of dust an inch thick weaving it’s way among the circuit panels. There is no way I’d have been up for the scolding, though where all that dust came from in the less-than-a-year since my computer was last cleaned is beyond me.

So, before any real sugery can begin, I need canned air.

I call around town to see if a car trip can be avoided. Three likely places fail to turn up results, so it’s off to Kmart.

Nearly $7 and 30 minutes later for a compressed, canned version of a substance we breathe 24/7, I’m back at my apartment ready for business.

First thing, Romeo gets a thorough dusting.

Four screws are all that holds in a computer power supply, I discover. I remove them and put them in my pocket for safekeeping.

The old power supply won’t reach the floor if I don’t remove the big plug attaching it to the processor (or is that the mother board?), but since it’s the only big plug, I figure it’s pretty safe to remove it.

I don’t know much about computers, but having seen the inside of a few, it’s pretty much a bunch of modular parts connected together by various plugs. Ergo, if you can fit the square plug into a square hole, and keep which square plug goes where, all should be well. My plan was to remove one thing at a time, replacing it with the new one in succession so I didn’t get lost.

So I installed the new power supply with it’s four screws. I went to plug in the big plug, only to discover that my new big plug has 24 pins. I was about to lose it, when I noticed that four seemed to be detachable. Whew! A jumper. I remove the extra four and plug in.

Then I went carefully over the octopus of wires and identified the ones that were identical to the ones hooked up in the computer. One by one, I unhooked and rehooked plugs, about 10 in all. The actual replacement process took less than 20 minutes.

Then it was time for the moment of truth. Panels back on the tower, monitor and accessories all hooked back up, kitchen A-B-C fire extinguisher handy just in case I did something really wrong, power supply plugged into cord plugged into wall.

I pushed the switch.

And Romeo was back. Alive. On my first try.

So I sent my fellow editors at work an email. It said, “Victory is mine.”

They had no idea what I was talking about.

(Originally published in The Easton News, March 8, 2007)