PC Virus Reinforces Green Thinking

My blog postings have been interrupted lately because my computer caught a virus.  As I write, it is still in the infirmary being disinfected.

I suppose it was bound to happen.  I tend to think of myself as slightly more savvy than the saps that get caught in the Nigerian spam phishing schemes, but the more time you spend on the internet, especially browsing, the more likely you are to catch something.  I was informed that the particular “rogue antivirus software” that infiltrated my hard drive has been known to inhabit even the most reputable sites on the Web like the WSJ where I am a frequent visitor.  Web surfing does have a parallel to promiscuity and STDs:  if you visit the unfamiliar often enough, you will contract something you were not looking for even if you use protection.  I wanted to deny anything was wrong and sheepishly took my computer in to the doctor, as if admitting your computer caught a virus was akin to admitting you spend your web time in the dregs and dark corners of cyberspace.  Not true, my computer doc, told me. 

The thing that gets me is computer diagnostic charges now cause the consumer to make the old value assessment on service versus replacement.  I never thought I would actually weigh the possibility of purchasing a new computer for $400 versus sinking 1/3 the cost into a virus removal and operating system verification / reload on my nearly nine-year-old computer. 

As cool as it would be to chuck the Compaq dinosaur (pre-HP merge) with 512 MB RAM and 20 GB hard drive for something many, many times sexier, the green side of me speaks up louder to keep something that works working for its natural life.  This is a core belief of mine, which I consider sustainable thinking.  Reducing consumerism for consumerism’s sake is being green.  My computer still works for what I need it for; why trade up?  The same goes for my car, and my clothes, and most everything else in my life.

I use things until they fail.  I wear socks until they are hole-y, then darn them and wear them out again until they develop holes in places that either cannot be fixed or hurt when I wear them.  I develop strange relationships with things that have lasted, things I initially did not care for, but because I have cared for it for so long, I begin to become attached to the item. 

My footwear is a good example.  I wear them until they truly fall apart.  I may buy a pair of shoes for work and it could take years for me to really like them, for them to finally fit my foot like a slipper.  I had a pair of Florsheims that I reluctantly bought out of need than because they were what I was really looking for.  Now nearly seven years later, they are on their deathbed and I cannot pull the plug.  Likewise, just when a t-shirt gets broken it, when it hangs on your body just so, it develops its first hole; there is no way I throw it away.  I may not wear it in public, but I cannot euthanize it.

This preservation first philosophy can be taken too far.  I held onto my last car, a Chrysler LeBaron (RIP), a little too long. My mechanic gave me a frequent customer discount card I was there so often. A part of me saw the car, which looked ok from the outside and knew it had miles left on it. However its innards, save for the battery, were gone. I had entire systems going on me—brakes, ignition, suspension—but to me it still seemed cheaper than the alternative. In hindsight, I kept it two years too long, and it cost me thousands that could have gone toward a gently used replacement machine.

Yet, economically it makes sense to toss sometimes.  I bent the fork on my mountain bike in graduate school.  It was a hybrid mountain bike ($350 new) that had seen better days.  She was actually stolen while I was an undergrad in Charlottesville and returned via a police sting to a pawn shop eighteen months later, but that is another story for another time.  The bike was beat and I sought a repair place to fix it.  When the repair estimate broke $150, I thought, no way; I can get a newer, higher quality bike for only a fraction more.  The bike repair man would not even make me an offer for parts. It hurt me, but I actually tossed an otherwise perfectly usable bike with a fatal bent fork flaw into a dumpster, and learned to leave earlier and walk faster.

I am not sure how much profit my computer virus doctor will make on my virus repair.  He has his right to his living, and I would not want to deny him that.  But it makes it a harder decision to fix rather than replace when the fix, deemed as relatively minor as far as requiring time, components or expertise, becomes such a large portion of the cost of a new, better item.  His work is guaranteed and I can imagine if I am not happy, I may end up with a new computer anyway. 

All around us consumer durables, things we buy that last multiple uses for years, like lawn mowers and cell phones are starting to cost too much to fix.  We must address the consumer aspect of the decision, but also think of environmental stewardship and figure out what the best overall decision is.  Why have our landfills overflowing with items brought to demise through minor dings just because the repair market is so expensive? In many cases, the responsible answer is to fix, find another use or find a secondary market (sell / trade it used) for it.  As you weave your way through life, weigh the green side of the story before you make your choice each time, and not just the greenbacks.