Buying an ATARI 1040 STF
I have almost completed the 8-bit ATARI line to my satisfaction. As a child, it never occurred to me to look for any other versions. I knew only my 800XE and, vaguely, some strange XL models. So I feel it is time to repay this debt. Surprisingly, various auction sites have plenty of 16-bit ATARIs in different versions – ST, STE, STFM, MEGA and so on… After finding out about compatibility and what the abbreviations mean, I started watching several listings. Most 16-bit ATARIs are offered together with an ATARI SM124 monochrome monitor, usually for roughly EUR 50 to 200 for the complete set.
Over the past month I have bled a little financially while building the 8-bit collection, so for the first time I am considering buying the cheapest possible computer without its original packaging or assorted accessories. I find an advert for a heavily yellowed ATARI 1040 STF with no price, only the note “Make an offer”. The seller is not far from the Czech border, so I give it a try. I offer EUR 30 on the condition that I collect the ATARI in person. Within an hour I receive an affirmative reply. We arrange Saturday morning. I immediately get in touch with my friend (and fellow Atarian) Kevin; one thing leads to another and at 5:00 in the morning we set off together in my car. The fun can begin.
During the drive we discuss every possible subject, from women to Atari and back again. The journey passes quickly. After about three hours we are almost there and – bang – a 10 km detour. Never mind, these things happen. We drive through East German villages and finally arrive: a tiny village deep in pine forests where there isn’t even a shop. Everything is peaceful and the intoxicating smell of pine forest is everywhere. A lady is standing in an open garage and I can see the ultra-yellowed technological marvel, the ATARI 1040 STF. I have a EUR 100 note, but she has no change – she almost looks horrified when she sees it. Perhaps it is even the first time she has seen a banknote of such a high value. I am surprised she cannot change it. To me it feels like someone back home being unable to give change for a CZK 1,000 note.
We search on a smartphone for some little shop and find a bakery supposedly five minutes’ walk away. But when we get there, there is nothing – just an ordinary family house. We walk back and ask the lady about a petrol station or shop. Everything is about 5–10 km away, so the fun continues. We wander through deep pine groves until we reach the main road, where we can finally see civilisation – a petrol station. We buy two coffees, sadly inspect the empty bakery shelf and pay with the EUR 100 note, which once again causes quite a stir. Just to be safe, I also change my money so that I have exactly EUR 30 rather than, say, 40 + 10 + 50. You never know.
Fortified by coffee, we return to the lady and pay for the ATARI. Enthusiastically I take a photo (rather like fathers photographing their newborn children). The lady covers the number plate on her motorcycle, whereupon I assure her that I really am photographing only the ATARI and explain why I am buying it – collecting and love for the brand. The ATARI is loaded, so off we go home. This time we take the motorway via Dresden, where we have burgers in a shopping centre and buy toys for the children in a huge toy shop. It is a strange comparison. I thought that in terms of selection we had more or less caught up with the West, but not at all. Toy shops back home don’t interest me at all; compared with Germany they practically have nothing. I haven’t seen so many toys and such a selection as in Germany for a long time. It would be much easier to spend money here than at home. I think this is a big gap and an opportunity in our market. We arrive home late. I put the ATARI away and am already looking forward to testing it.
