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I'd be rich if I had a dollar for every time I was convinced I had single-handedly broken the Internet, only to have the office I.T. guy come to my desk and bring it all back online with one keystroke. It's happened more times than I should be willing to admit in a national publication.
But every so often, the hardware really does go haywire. A scary red box of death gravely informs you of an error. You open your 2,000-word article and find little squares and assorted wingdings where there were once English words. It's the sheer, unadulterated panic typically reserved for Bruckheimer-esque catastrophes.
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Christen Gruebel
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