Last December, our computer repair shop almost celebrated 20 years of business. We don’t get excited about anniversaries, but two decades seemed cake-worthy – until fate served a helping of humble pie instead. I’ve previously written about the shadowy spectre of Hubris that hides within each repair, ready to slap down techies who believe (if only for a second) that they’re mastering the art of fixing. During the week of our anniversary, Hubris arrived three times to run amok. I’ll save two of the tales for a rainy day and leave you with this. If you want me, I’ll be the one in the corner, crying.
Mark’s PC was a desktop built by an online retailer a few years ago. They moulded it around a ninth-generation Core i5 (Christopher Ecclestone) and an MSI H310 motherboard sporting 32GB of RAM. Mark reported two issues. The first was that a certain game, the name of which is unimportant, crashed the machine. The second problem was that his recent purchases of RGB case LEDs and a spangly new LED rear fan wouldn’t light up.
Neither problem seemed serious, but of the two, the crashing game was the more troublesome. When diagnosing potential gaming issues, I avoid (if possible) using the client’s own accounts as I don’t want to mangle their hard-earned scores or online reputation. Initially, I ignore software and focus on
