Story of A Hard Disk

I am a hard disk, st380021a, performing my ordinary duty in an ordinary desktop computer. Others often have the impression that we are white collars working in high-tech industry with decent jobs and pleasant conditions. It may well appear so, if you are only fixing your eyes on the nice-looking white computer case. The truth is, for a small desktop like this, the confined cell and dusty air offer us nothing but a dull life. We can cope with some text processing or video playing, but when running big software or games, the highly demanding work drives us nuts and sometimes the system is forced to shut down. The technology in our industry develops so fast that a new generation surfaces almost every two or three years. We all here feel pressured with an uncertainty about our future. Every newcomer enters here with pride and ambition, but when you look at them a few years later, they all have the same deadpan face.

My colleagues here all dream of opportunities to work in other computer cases. To them, a laptop computer would be the utopia in which they can travel world by air and rest in five-star hotels. All they need to do would be to run a word processor occasionally and chat on the Internet for fun. For me, however, I prefer to work in some large server, particularly in a bright and clean computer room. It may require longer working hours, but considering the welfare and benefits, it is worth it; 24 hours non-stop power supply, UPS, RAID, hot swap, simple group work, what an easy life!! Unlike the work we do here, they only run key applications and it is an honorable job indeed. However I know that hard disks who work there are high achievers, SCSI, or SCSI II, or Fibre Channel. For an IDE like me, I would give anything just to get a job in one of their workstations.

Sometimes I wonder, if I had been a little more diligent in the factory, my life might be different now. I could have been made into a SCSI, or a laptop hard disk at least. I tell myself maybe it is all about fate. I never complain, unlike the Memory. He often complains about the complexity of his Motherboard Department, grumbling about how incompatible he is with those Johnny-come—lately memory chips, and how Network Interface Card and TV Card dislike each other.

I don’t have many friends, and Memory is one of my close contacts. He is a skinny fellow while I am plump. He is swift but I am always slow. We came to this desktop at the same time. He talks, talks and talks, while I just listen with my mouth shut. I would say he hasn’t got a brain in his head. Despite his English name, Memory, ironically, his memory is like a sieve. He forgets everything after a sleep, no matter how significant it might be. I talk very little, but I remember every detail. He said technical work was no good for a man as melancholic as me and sooner or later I would be a victim of schizophrenia. Confident in my capacity, I only smiled at his words.

Sometimes I do enjoy my simple work. Monitor has the master to stare at him all the time, CD-ROM has to deal with CDs coming from who-knows-where, while I just work with documents, just read and write. It is a life of simplicity and peace.

Until that day…

I still remember vividly how the computer case was opened inch by inch, and how the light grew brighter and brighter. Even the air danced with rhythm. I saw her... She was so slim in shining silver case. Her elegance reminded me of my clumsiness and put me to shame. I couldn't compose myself until we were connected with a cable. In that split second when power was turned on, I sensed an unusual electric current. (Memory later mocked me, saying the electric current changed each time there was a newcomer, the same with the arrival of that inexperienced memory last time. Spare me the nonsense!). I tried my best to remain calm with a professional manner. I tried to hide my feeling and simply gave her the proper introduction to the working conditions.

Later I came to know her, ibm-djsa220, a laptop hard disk，working in the laptop computer of my master’s friend. She came here to copy some files. We chatted. It was good fun. She told me many interesting stories about her journey, shared her experience of traveling by air and described how it was different from bumpy trips on buses. She also showed me many beautiful photos, interesting travel journals. The story of her falling from a table was almost too much for me to bear. While I tried to flaunt myself outrageously with jokes and stories downloaded from the Internet, she laughed happily, and I was amazed that I could be so eloquent.

One morning, when the power was turned on, I found nothing but an empty socket left in the place where she had stayed. My seven days of happiness ceased at that moment. I never saw her again. I regret that we didn’t exchange email addresses, and that I never had the chance to say goodbye.

During my break times, I would bring back to mind that beam of light which penetrated into our computer case on that special day.

The word “memory” does not have much meaning for me and what I have there are files she left. I sort them out neatly and place them in my frequently-visited space. Each time when the access arm runs over them, a faint happiness is refreshed in my body. One day, unexpectedly, my master asked me to delete these files. I tried to argue that there was still much room, but my battle didn’t make a difference. For the first time in my life, I disobeyed an order from him. I furtively reconfigured the file allocation table, hid these files in a secret place and marked it as “Bad Sector”. No one would access a bad sector and there my memory can remain.

I often drop by to see them, although I never stay long.

Days repeat themselves over and over again. Read and write … read and write… I thought I would go on like this forever, until one day, my master wanted to install XP and found there was not enough space. He discovered the bad sector and tried to fix it. I rejected his order and soon a new command came: FORMAT

After a long hesitation, (I reported) ….
track 0 bad，disk unusable



我是一個硬盤，st380021a，在一個普普通通的臺式機里工作。別人總認為我們是高科技白領，工作又干凈又體面，似乎風光得很。也許他們是因為看到潔白漂亮的機箱才有這樣的錯覺吧。其實象我們這樣的小臺式機，工作環境狹迫，里面的灰塵嚇得死人。每天生活死水一潭，工作機械重復。跑跑文字處理看看電影還湊活，真要遇到什么大軟件和游戲，上上下下就要忙的團團轉， 最后還常常要死機。我們這一行技術變化快，差不多每過兩三年就要升級換代，所以人人都很有壓力而且沒有安全感。
　　
　　每個新板卡來的時候都神采飛揚躊躇滿志，幾年光陰一過，就變得灰頭土臉意志消沉。機箱里的人都很羨慕能去別的機器工作。特別是去那些筆記本，經常可以出差飛來飛去，住五星級的酒店，還不用干重活，運行運行word，上網聊聊天就行了。而我更喜歡去那些大服務器，在特別干凈明亮的機房里工作。雖然工作時間長點，但是福利好，24小時不間斷電源，ups，而且還有陣列，熱插拔，幾個人做一個人的事情，多輕松啊。而且也很有面子，只運行關鍵應用，不像我們這里，什么亂七八糟的事情都要做。不過我知道，那些硬盤都很厲害，不是scsi，就是scsi ii, fibre channel，象我這樣ide的，能混到工作站就算很不錯了。我常常想，當年在工廠里，如果我努力一下會不會也成了一個scsi，或者至少做一個筆記本硬盤。但我又會想，也許這些都是命運。

　　不過我從不抱怨。內存就常常抱怨，抱怨他們主板部門的復雜，抱怨他如何跟新來的雜牌內存不兼容，網卡和電視卡又是如何的沖突。我的朋友不多，內存算一個。他很瘦的而我很胖，他動作很快，而我總是很慢。我們是一起來這臺機器的，他總　　是不停地說，而我只是聽,我從來不說。內存的頭腦很簡單，雖然英文名字叫memory，可是他什么memory都不會有，天大的事睡一 覺就能忘個精光。我不說，但我會記得所有的細節。他說我這樣憂郁的人不適合作技術活，遲早要精神分裂。我笑笑，因為我相信自己的容量。
　　
　　有時候我也很喜歡這份工作，簡單，既不用象顯示器那樣一天到晚被老板盯著，也不用象光驅那樣對付外面的光碟。只要和文件打交道就行了，無非是讀讀寫寫，很單純安靜的生活。
　　
　　直到有一天......
　　
　　我至今還記得那漸漸掀起的機箱的蓋子，從缺口伸進來的光柱越來越寬，也越來越亮。 空氣里彌漫著跳動的顆粒。那個時候，我看到了她。她是那么的纖細瘦弱， 銀白的外殼一閃一閃的。渾身上下的做工都很精致光潔，讓我不禁慚愧自己的粗笨。等到數據線把我們連在一起，我才緩過神來。開機的那一剎那，我感到了電流和平時的不同。后來內存曾經笑話我，說我們這里只要有新人來，電流都會不同的，上次新內存來也是這樣。我覺得他是胡扯。我盡量的保持鎮定，顯出一副很專業的樣子，只是淡淡的向她問好并介紹工作環境。
　　
　　慢慢的，我知道了，她，ibm-djsa220，是一個筆記本硬盤，在老板的朋友的筆記本里做事。這次來是為了復制一些文件。我們聊得很開心。她告訴我很多旅行的趣聞，告訴我坐飛機是怎么樣的，坐汽車的顛簸又是如何的不同，給我看很多漂亮的照片、游記，還有一次她從桌子上掉下來的的歷險故事。而我則賣弄各種網上下載來的故事和笑話。她笑得很開心。而我很驚訝自己可以說個不停。
　　
　　一個早晨，開機后我看到數據線上空蕩蕩的插口。
　　
　　她一共呆了7天。后來，我再也沒有見過她。
　　
　　我有點后悔沒有交換電子郵件，也沒能和她道別。不忙的時候，我會一個人懷念射進機箱的那股陽光。
　　
　　我不知道記憶這個詞是什么意思，我有的只是她留下的許多文件。我把它們排的整 整齊齊，放在我最常經過的地方。每次磁頭從它們身上掠過，我都會感到一絲淡淡的愜意。
　　
　　但我沒有想到老板會要我刪除這些文件。我想爭辯還有足夠的空間，但毫無用處。
　　
　　 秘密的地方，再把那里標志成壞扇區。不會有人來過問壞扇區。而那里，就成了我唯一的秘密，我常常去看他們，雖然從不作停留。
　　
　　日子一天一天的重復，讀取寫入，讀取寫入...我以為永遠都會這樣繼續下去，直到一天，老板要裝xp卻發現沒有足夠的空間。他發現了問題，想去修復那些壞扇區。我拒絕了。很快，

我接到了新命令：格式化

　　我猶豫了很久
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　　。。。
　　。。。
　　。。。
　　track 0 bad, disk unusable