by Bethaney Wallace
After eight years and two computers, I finally did it. I switched over to the dark side and bought my very first Mac. Like Anakin Skywalker fighting Obi-Wan Kenobi in a highly unrealistic lava fight, I had traded sides – a switch that could not be undone.
I first became a Windows fan, when, at my junior prom, they gave me a free computer. Just gave it to me. My name had been drawn from a hat that named winners, and the then-brand-new, 16 lb. computer was mine. Five years later when it was infested with cyber bugs (and probably literal bugs), I purchased a new one. It weighed less, but the principles were the same. You changed the size of programs by clicking in the right-hand corner, and, when minimizing pages, they weren’t sucked into the bottom of the screen by an invisible vacuum.

I wasn’t a complete stranger to Macs; I had used them before. I’d had two bosses who were obsessed with all-things Apple and wanted nothing to do with my PC-loving ways. If I was to work for them, I was to work on a Mac. And so I did. I learned the short keys, the hot corners, the finger pad tricks. But I still preferred my PC. Coming home to my Windows computer was much like sleeping in your own bed after a vacation. It’s not that I didn’t like the hotel beds, but they just didn’t feel like home.