Monday, January 20, 2014

PSII: and the Legend Continues

My husband, owner of numerous game consoles, came home with yet another to add to his collection. He bought a Play Station 2 for $15 at a flea market. He was so proud of his newest acquisition, even though he has a perfectly fine PS3 that’s not paid off yet.

As soon as he got home he hooked it up, and it turned on which meant to him that it would work. He deleted the game data of the previous owner, and then put in his only PS2 disc. With much triumph and fanfare, the game didn’t load. He turned it off, back on, and still nothing happened. I told him to blow on the game to get it to work, and he got grumpy fast! Ash was crushed; his new toy was broken.

I told him it was probably full of dust and offered to clean it for him. He thought a better solution would be to take it to a used game store and pay someone to fix it. Diplomatically, I did my best to explain that it would be ridiculous to pay more money to fix it than it is worth, especially since he has many other consoles. He told me that he didn’t want me to fix it because I didn’t know what I was doing and I’d probably break it. This made me more determined to want to fix it. I then reminded him how I got his Super Nintendo controllers back to working condition, so he reluctantly agreed to let me clean the Play Station.

Oh no! I voided the warranty!
I started off just using canned air, but I thought that I needed to open it up to get out the rest of the dust. I told him I’d have to break the warranty seal, which upset him for some reason even though this console was as old as the dirt that filled it. The sticker was printed with a warning label written in cuneiform. Despite Ash’s weeping, I took apart the entire system. The thing was infested with dust bunnies! It was pretty gross. While I was removing the dust, Ash found a video that described how to take apart the thingamabob that reads the disks to clean it. Since the console had to be turned on to open a certain part, the video warned multiple times not to look directly in the laser. Ash had to help me turn on the system so I could get to the oculus of Ra to clean it, and after I thought he turned it off I looked at the system, but that was when he turned it on! I swear, he kept turning on the deadly laser every time he thought I might look at it. After my retinas were thoroughly radiated with evil laser beams of death, I got everything else cleaned out and put back together. I only managed to lose one tiny, little screw. I thought I dropped it somewhere in the console, but when I shook it I couldn’t hear it. It’s either wedged somewhere in the device or it’s lost within the crevasses of my living room carpet.

Avert your eyes! The lasers will melt your eyes!

After all of my toil and Ash’s agony, he hooked the PS2 back up and it work! I fixed his new, old toy. It wasn’t until he started playing it that I realized he used to reverse psychology to get me to fix it by saying I couldn’t do it. So, today’s lesson is that if your significant other brings home a pile of junk and claims that you will be unable to fix it, just sigh and say, “You’re right, we should just throw it away.”

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