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In the normal course of a day I consider myself quite sane.  In particular, I don’t attribute human-like behavior to inanimate objects.

Until something goes wrong.

It’s late in the morning meaning I’m going to be late for work.  The remote doesn’t unlock the door so I stand there for a few minutes pressing the button and getting agitated.  Finally, I use the key to open it and throw in my stuff.  Then I sit in the driver’s seat, close the door, and try and fasten the seatbelt.  But I can’t because it’s stuck in the door.  After opening the door, getting the belt out unstuck, and closing it again, I try and start the car up.  It won’t start.

First comes the pleading and sweet talking.  “C’mon, start up.  You can start up!  Yes! You can!  Go ahead.”  The car doesn’t start.  Then it’s the threats and violence.  “Damn it!  You need to start!  Start!” Cussing and dashboard pounding ensues.

After getting it to someone who knows what they’re doing it’s all explained to me: While driving in a storm a rock must have gotten shot up under the car which punctured a plastic covering which allowed road water to get splashed onto a piece of sensitive electronic equipment which rendered the vehicle unable to start.

But I know the truth: It did it to spite me.

When a laptop isn’t working right, like the touchpad doesn’t work, it’s because it hates me.  It wants to rile me up.

It’s not physics that causes a rubber hose to coil in the wrong direction or violently uncoil once the job is done.  It happened just to annoy me.

Deep inside I know that machines have souls.  An intelligence of some kind.

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