As readers might remember, my 2001 Dodge Caravan caught on fire last week after some maintenance to replace the serpentine belt and the power steering pump, both of which had died the day before. Now I've been in a rental for a couple of days (another Dodge Caravan, but a spiffy new 2007 with 15,000 miles on the odometer). In those couple days, my rear windshield wiper fell off and the weather stripping on the passenger door kept falling into the car. Tonight, I couldn't get it started as I came home from our Drama Club's penultimate dress rehearsal. I finally managed to get the engine to continue running long enough to get my thespian son and me home, which was nice since it's 20 degrees here. The tow truck just left, carrying it away; a new rental should be delivered tomorrow. My wife keeps making references to bad karma (get it, car-ma?).
I bring this up in an Ed Tech column though, because it gets at the issue of reliability. In particular, laptop reliability is on my mind. Our fleet of Dell Latitudes is approaching the end of it's 3-year warranty period, so we're scrambling to make sure we get everything fixed in time. Overall, these laptops have been decent workhorses, but they are all in sorry shape now. Cases are cracked, batteries are dead, AC adapters have fraying cables, keys are missing, optical drives have died, and the list goes on. Dell has been great about the fixes (accidental damage protection and US-based tech support are my friends), but teachers and students are a particularly mean bunch when it comes to abusing portable computers. I won't say that they've been unreliable, but I need something that can withstand some pretty harsh treatment (the ant colony I found in an optical drive last summer remains an impressive example).
Several teachers, myself included, have simply bought new laptops, when the Pentium 4-based Latitudes with 14 inch screens became too slow. Students as well are buying laptops more frequently, especially now that sub-$500 portables can actually be decent machines. The Dells and HPs they buy seem to be holding up fairly well (although my glossy screen has permanent marks on it and the shiny finishes that have become so popular are quickly wearing off). More expensive Acers seem OK; Avertec has lured in a few teachers because they are cheap and light. The latter, however, have ended up on my desk with sticky notes asking for help too often for my tastes.
My wife's Compaq is great, but she's far gentler than the average football coach and has never even thought of shoving it into a backpack, let alone using it in a chemistry lab. One teacher sprang for a Lenovo and has had nothing but problems with it, although I'm firmly convinced that she is not only technically-challenged, but technology cursed. Electronics just don't seem to stand a chance around her.
There are rugged and semi-rugged laptops to be had, but these are designed to withstand harsh field conditions; I don't want to start handing teachers rubberized, waterproof, dustproof bricks purchased for a premium price.
This begs the question, then, which mainstream laptops can hold up to the most abuse? Which laptops are the Toyota Siennas of Ed Tech, rather than the Dodge Caravans? I haven't mentioned Apples since the teachers in my district are almost universally anti-Mac. However, I recall a certain Titanium Powerbook I used to have that made it through me and a genuinely mean-spirited kid to whom I sold it, before finally dying when it was quite literally thrown across a room. Are Macs the answer? Can they take the abuse of K-12 students and teachers?
What have been your toughest notebooks? I once had a little Mitsubishi coupe for a commuter car. I abused this thing no end, with zero regard for ordinary maintenance and a continual loop of Sammy Hagar's "I Can't Drive 55" playing on its CD player. However, until the day I traded it in, I never had a single problem with it. I'm looking for the moral equivalent of that little Mitsubishi here. Talk back below and let me know what can stand up to your teachers, students, and staff.