My brother, an Eastern-European part-time farmer and full-time lorry driver, just texted me a couple of hours ago (I had told him I would call him in the next hour) that he might be with his hands full of meat by that time as “we’ve just butchered our pig Ghitza” (those sausages and piftii aren’t going to get made by themselves).

Now, ask a laptop worker to butcher an animal whom used to have a name and to literally turn its meat into sausages and see what said worker’s reaction would be.