This has to do with the computer, the ubiquitous modern instrument which has virtually taken over our lives, even if we never touch one. But I have, alas, touched one. It is an old one in the accelerated method of aging used by the world of electronics – a three-year-old 486 IBM-compatible personal computer. To those of you who don’t know what a 486 is, it’s the equivalent of a 1937 Chevrolet with none of the antique value. When I inquired about possibly selling it and getting a new Pentium computer, my computer-literate friends advised me to turn it into a planter or a fish tank instead.

So I decided that Bill Gates and the conspiratorial clique of computer software and hardware dealers were no longer going to rule my life. “I will upgrade,” I shouted, in a loud, defiant tone.

Using the free 800 number of the purveyor who sold me my original computer, I was connected to a service representative within a matter of hours – not days, which is the case with technical assistance personnel. With a tone of total assurance, I said: “I want to order a Pentium processor upgrade for my 486 computer and two 16 megabyte SIMMs.” Then I braced myself for the condescending response that only sales technoids can elucidate: “Are you sure you want to upgrade a computer that old? I can offer you a new Pentium computer complete with all the software and peripherals for only $2,997.98 – that’s for today only. Tomorrow it will be $3,000.”

But I was persistent, if a little shaken. “N-n-n-no, I want the u-u-upgrade,” I told the salesman. “Okay, but you’ll probably be sorry,” he remarked, honesty oozing.

Within a few days, my new Pentium processor and the SIMMs arrived. For anyone unfamiliar with the inside of a computer – that covers about the entire population of the world outside of computer manufacturing plants – a processor is a tiny electronic device that is sort-of the brain of the whole system. It has about a billion tiny little wires and dots of metal concentrated into a square inch. It costs a couple of hundred dollars for this relatively simple model of less than 100 mHz. SIMMs are little rows of metal and plastic doodads which fit into slots on the “motherboard” – the amazingly intricate hunk of circuitry at the heart of the central processing unit of the computer. That is all I know about computer hardware. And that is after 12 years of earnest study – reading books and manuals, watching films and videos, sitting in classrooms filled with monitors and keyboards and actually working on computers.

The tiny new pieces I received – you could hold all of this powerful stuff in the palm of your hand even if you are a midget – are packed in gigantic cartons with lots of cardboard, plastic and foam. A technical reference which has nothing to do with either the processor or the new memory components is included. I don’t read those except I noticed on the first few pages they offer WARNINGS about static electricity and long instruction of how to prevent it. Nothing for me to be concerned about, I’m sure.

The first step, I know from previous experience, is to have a large alcoholic drink. No, I mean, it is to remove the cover from the central processing unit. This is a real ordeal for me because I’m afraid I will unscrew something that should remain screwed or I will be…well, you know. But I get the cover off with no mishaps and now I look at the exposed interior of my old 486. It looks complex but not as foreboding as the first time.

My next move is to extract the old processor – a little square flat thing somewhere inside there. But I can’t find it. Thus I must undertake the unsavory task of reading the installation instructions. It tells me that I may have to remove a “card” – one of the flat green particle board thingies with lots of teensy wires and electronic piffle. Removing a card is like taking someone’s appendix out using a pocket knife and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. But I did it. I pulled and pulled and I finally removed the sound card.

And there it was. The processor. I followed the instructions – which included step-by-step guidelines for removing any of the 32 possible varieties of processors, none of them exactly like the one I ordered. Easy enough. Then I inserted the new processor, which differed from its predecessor by having a little black round appurtenance atop it. Wow, even easier. Then I went to put back the sound card. Oh, no, it wouldn’t fit over top of the protruding new processor.

While I was mulling over how to deal with this dilemma, I decided to proceed with installing the SIMMs which would give my system greater memory to go along with the more powerful processor, which I don’t know if I will have or not. After a two-hour struggle, I called my daughter, who has worked with a few computers at her home, in business and at school. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I know how to put in SIMMs-es.”

Directly, she arrived and with little ado installed the new memory hardware. I asked her about the processor and she just shook her head and rolled her eyes. About that time, my nephew dropped by. Although he doesn’t know a computer from a compote, he does have a strong talent for mechanics. “Hey,” he advised, “why don’t you take out the narrower green card at the top and put it at the bottom where it will fit over that little black thing.”

We did that. But still the card was about a half inch too wide. “Well,” my nephew offered, “why don’t you just saw it off?” “SAW IT OFF???” I screamed. “SAW IT OFF???? This is a delicate piece of electronic equipment which I paid hundreds of dollars for. You can’t saw it off!”

But I was desperate. If this processor could not be accommodated, I would have to go from a $400 upgrade to a $2,000 new machine. “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. “But be careful.”

He takes the little card – the unit which controls the complex operations of a scanner – out to the workshop. I stay behind, wringing my hands. Soon I hear the loud roaring sound of the power jigsaw my wife uses for the rough cutting of the craft items and furniture she makes. I bound to the shop to find my nephew plowing into the card with the rasping blade of the power saw instead of the gentle slice of a hand saw. But he quickly removes a half-inch notch in the card as I stand there hyperventilating over my economic losses.

Without acknowledging my grunts of pain as I run along behind him, my nephew returns to the computer, inserts the mutilated scanner card and leaves. “Call me when you get it working,” he grins.

After he and my daughter have left, I nervously turn on the power to my “upgraded” machine. It groans and whirs, as usual. But within seconds, the whole system is operational. Everything moves twice as fast as it did before. It worked, by Jove, it worked! Even after mutilation with a power jigsaw, even after my clumsy handling of the delicate memory chips, even after not reading the manual.

It all goes to show you, an old dog can…wait a minute, I forget that saying about old dogs. Is it an old dog can get two in the bush. Or saves nine. Or…