I found a folder full of all my high school crap, and included was a floppy disk. I was SO excited. Could this be the disk with, you know, my diary, or those surprisingly compelling 60-page novellas I used to write in 2002? One way to find out. After searching around my laptop like Derek Zoolander and Hansel (you know exactly the scene I'm talking about: "The files are in the computer?"), trying to force the floppy into every opening (ha) and eventually just hitting it against the computer in frustration to see what would happen, I remembered the downstairs computer is from 2003-ish and def sports a floppy drive. God, I love the word floppy.
Anyway, I guess I could title this micro-post "Allie Is Computerally Retarded" BUT I'm not that down on myself because I'm sure no one else today has any idea how to work with floppies. I popped it in the drive, patted myself on the back a million times for remembering it's the "A" drive, then just kind of sat there. Waiting for documents to magically appear. Like a DVD. It took me a good 3 minutes of sitting there impatiently, staring at the computer tower looking for some sort of flashing light, to realize I had to actually go into Word and physically open the folder. Which, of course, has apparently "Not been formatted or was formatted for a Macintosh." My computer is such an elitist whore. And I guess I never will see my stories/diary/amateur porn novels. Such is life.
Now I'm getting all these acid-trippy flashbacks where I'm like "WHOA! I totally remember that if I leave the disk in the drive and shut down the computer wont start the next time!" What a fun morning. Highly recommended.
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