Thoughts While Someone Is Using Your PC

Watching someone else use your computer is more or less the equivalent to watching them bang your significant other: sure, it’s kind of interesting to see their own personal techniques, but all around it’s nerve-wracking and stressful, and makes you wish more than anything else you were the one in control. “Please type faster than my address bar’s autofill.” For those of us who don’t have a shared computer, auto-fill is a welcomed feature. In fact, I seem to frequent so few sites that I seem to never have to type in more than one or two letters before I’m able to hit enter and access my intended destination. That being said, my intended destination sometimes happens to filthy, despicable adult-rated content. Sure, I’m totally fine admitting to anyone that, “yes, I watch porn,” but for some reason, having the actual address pop up still makes me uncomfortable. After all, the specific sites you use says a lot about your personality, and depending on the person, may just be too revealing at that point in our relationship. This thought is stressed further when you have an idea of where they’re intending on going: “Popular Mechanics? But that starts with a P! Fuuuuuuck!”

“Of all times, why are you going so slow now?!” It seems like every time someone else uses your computer, it decides to get in one of its sloth moods, wherein it’s more or less entirely nonfunctional. Sure, it was working impeccably only moments prior, but now it’s decided that running three different tabs is entirely too much. Oh, and you know that iTunes song playing? It’s going to repeat the same three seconds over and over again, and not allow you to adjust your volume or close iTunes. “Close that program. And that one. Just click okay to that alert message, it’s nothing.” This is reserved primarily for PC users who have older computers which have accumulated thousands of entirely useless programs and problems, but are too lazy to fix them, and instead just “deal” with them. And when you turn on your computer, tons of shit pops up that you don’t even know what it does – that printer alert from your friend’s cottage’s computer, that program you needed once to convert that one weird file-type – but you’ve just gotten so used to instantly managing. But then your friend comes along and turns on your computer and suddenly you’re forced to step out of your pathetic fantasy and realize that your computer management skills are next to none. Fuck you, reality. Fuck you.

“Goddammit, you just ate fucking Cheetos, at least do a pant wipe!” You know those friends who just don’t have the same computer etiquette as you? They grease up your keyboard, wipe boogers under the desk, or actually touch the screen when pointing at something? They are the fucking worst, and really, shouldn’t be allowed to use computers. I mean, fuck, their computer at home is probably so disgusting you wouldn’t even use it if you had to. And here they are just grubbing up yours? But with all of these thoughts constantly going through my mind, I still can’t bring myself to force a password prompt whenever trying to access my computer. Sure, it has it’s benefits, but then you’re that guy.


Matt Houghton, Melissa Arendt, ARTICLES

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