UnBooks:Adam and Eve and the curse of Windows Vista
God, who in truth was more like a systems administrator with infinite patience and a badge, created Paradise and set everything up: rivers of data flowing without latency, clouds that were purely metaphorical (none of that file-upload nonsense), and—most importantly—a pristine Windows XP, fresh as a newly formatted hard drive. “Use it responsibly,” God said. “But under no circumstances may you download or use anything from the Apple tree, the iTree.” It was the only small-print clause in Eden’s terms and conditions.
Paradise[edit | edit source]
Adam and Eve lived happily. XP was responsive, the Start menu was a tidy rosary of options, and updates were rare and friendly, like miracles without pop-ups. Adam discovered the sacred power of Ctrl+Alt+Del (a sort of short prayer to reboot the soul), while Eve mastered the art of organizing folders with the grace of a UI designer on their best day.
But the snake, who had once worked as a freelance gadget influencer, had a plan: it slid over with an Apple and a shiny iPhone and whispered in the tone of a push notification, “What if you tried Safari? It’s got tabs, gestures… and shops.” It showed them the App Store icon as though revealing an ancient secret. “It’s just an apple,” it said. “A couple of taps and you’ll discover amazing things.”
Curious, Eve opened Safari. The bookmarks bar sparkled and, driven by consumerist instinct, she clicked Amazon. There, between sales and ungodly recommendations, was the clothing category: shirts, tunics, and trousers with 24-hour shipping. Adam and Eve —who had until then understood ‘clothing’ only as a default configuration—looked at each other. For the first time, the discomfort of the barefoot lifestyle became real: they *missed clothes*. The pictures were hypnotic, the sizes tempting, the “Add to Cart” buttons like promises of textile dignity.
Windows Vista[edit | edit source]
Hearing the sound of digital transactions, God frowned from the heavens. “I gave you Windows XP and one clear rule,” He said. No lightning bolt—something worse. With solemn admin gestures, He expelled the pair from Paradise… but not before inflicting the ultimate and terrible punishment: the default installation of Windows Vista.
The promised land of user experience had turned into a swamp of endless updates, UAC prompts asking permission even to blink, visual effects devouring RAM like a many-headed hydra, and the legendary Blue Screen of Death—an oracle that declared guilt without explanation. Adam tried to reboot with faith; Eve scoured miracle forums; the snake, more satisfied than ever, sold cables.
Yet, in the last sunset before the installer froze again, God leaned down and made a promise in the tone of a product roadmap: “Don’t worry. A day will come when the nightmare will end. Windows 7 will arrive: stable, understandable, with a taskbar that won’t humiliate you. It will be the update that redeems your drivers.”
Adam and Eve, sitting on the hillside of this new version of human history, consoled themselves holding an iPhone in one hand and covering themselves with a system patch in the other. They glanced once more at the clothing deals on Amazon in Safari and sighed: at least they knew what they wanted to buy when the store let them back in. And in the eternity of tech support, sometimes hope has the name of a clean installation and a button that says “Next.”