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



我是一个硬盘，st380021a，在一个普普通通的台式机里工作。别人总认为我们是高科技白领，工作又干净又体面，似乎风光得很。也许他们是因为看到洁白漂亮的机箱才有这样的错觉吧。其实象我们这样的小台式机，工作环境狭迫，里面的灰尘吓得死人。每天生活死水一潭，工作机械重复。跑跑文字处理看看电影还凑活，真要遇到什么大软件和游戏，上上下下就要忙的团团转， 最后还常常要死机。我们这一行技术变化快，差不多每过两三年就要升级换代，所以人人都很有压力而且没有安全感。
　　
　　每个新板卡来的时候都神采飞扬踌躇满志，几年光阴一过，就变得灰头土脸意志消沉。机箱里的人都很羡慕能去别的机器工作。特别是去那些笔记本，经常可以出差飞来飞去，住五星级的酒店，还不用干重活，运行运行word，上网聊聊天就行了。而我更喜欢去那些大服务器，在特别干净明亮的机房里工作。虽然工作时间长点，但是福利好，24小时不间断电源，ups，而且还有阵列，热插拔，几个人做一个人的事情，多轻松啊。而且也很有面子，只运行关键应用，不像我们这里，什么乱七八糟的事情都要做。不过我知道，那些硬盘都很厉害，不是scsi，就是scsi ii, fibre channel，象我这样ide的，能混到工作站就算很不错了。我常常想，当年在工厂里，如果我努力一下会不会也成了一个scsi，或者至少做一个笔记本硬盘。但我又会想，也许这些都是命运。

　　不过我从不抱怨。内存就常常抱怨，抱怨他们主板部门的复杂，抱怨他如何跟新来的杂牌内存不兼容，网卡和电视卡又是如何的冲突。我的朋友不多，内存算一个。他很瘦的而我很胖，他动作很快，而我总是很慢。我们是一起来这台机器的，他总　　是不停地说，而我只是听,我从来不说。内存的头脑很简单，虽然英文名字叫memory，可是他什么memory都不会有，天大的事睡一 觉就能忘个精光。我不说，但我会记得所有的细节。他说我这样忧郁的人不适合作技术活，迟早要精神分裂。我笑笑，因为我相信自己的容量。
　　
　　有时候我也很喜欢这份工作，简单，既不用象显示器那样一天到晚被老板盯着，也不用象光驱那样对付外面的光碟。只要和文件打交道就行了，无非是读读写写，很单纯安静的生活。
　　
　　直到有一天......
　　
　　我至今还记得那渐渐掀起的机箱的盖子，从缺口伸进来的光柱越来越宽，也越来越亮。 空气里弥漫着跳动的颗粒。那个时候，我看到了她。她是那么的纤细瘦弱， 银白的外壳一闪一闪的。浑身上下的做工都很精致光洁，让我不禁惭愧自己的粗笨。等到数据线把我们连在一起，我才缓过神来。开机的那一刹那，我感到了电流和平时的不同。后来内存曾经笑话我，说我们这里只要有新人来，电流都会不同的，上次新内存来也是这样。我觉得他是胡扯。我尽量的保持镇定，显出一副很专业的样子，只是淡淡的向她问好并介绍工作环境。
　　
　　慢慢的，我知道了，她，ibm-djsa220，是一个笔记本硬盘，在老板的朋友的笔记本里做事。这次来是为了复制一些文件。我们聊得很开心。她告诉我很多旅行的趣闻，告诉我坐飞机是怎么样的，坐汽车的颠簸又是如何的不同，给我看很多漂亮的照片、游记，还有一次她从桌子上掉下来的的历险故事。而我则卖弄各种网上下载来的故事和笑话。她笑得很开心。而我很惊讶自己可以说个不停。
　　
　　一个早晨，开机后我看到数据线上空荡荡的插口。
　　
　　她一共呆了7天。后来，我再也没有见过她。
　　
　　我有点后悔没有交换电子邮件，也没能和她道别。不忙的时候，我会一个人怀念射进机箱的那股阳光。
　　
　　我不知道记忆这个词是什么意思，我有的只是她留下的许多文件。我把它们排的整 整齐齐，放在我最常经过的地方。每次磁头从它们身上掠过，我都会感到一丝淡淡的惬意。
　　
　　但我没有想到老板会要我删除这些文件。我想争辩还有足够的空间，但毫无用处。
　　
　　 秘密的地方，再把那里标志成坏扇区。不会有人来过问坏扇区。而那里，就成了我唯一的秘密，我常常去看他们，虽然从不作停留。
　　
　　日子一天一天的重复，读取写入，读取写入...我以为永远都会这样继续下去，直到一天，老板要装xp却发现没有足够的空间。他发现了问题，想去修复那些坏扇区。我拒绝了。很快，

我接到了新命令：格式化

　　我犹豫了很久
　　。。。
　　。。。
　　。。。
　　。。。
　　。。。
　　track 0 bad, disk unusable