I need to see an exorcist.
I finally got my computer back, but I paid a heavy price in the form of time, money and what’s left of my sanity.
On Friday morning I want to the repair place on Seventh Street expecting to pick up my machine two weeks after it croaked on me, and then zip on back home to write, blog, screw around on YouTube, and look for work.
Well, that all went merrily straight to Hell in a hatbox as I had to wait nearly an hour before I got the goddamn thing, only to bring it home—via car service—to find that there was some kind of glitch with the email.
So I called the repair place. Their solution? Bring the computer back to downtown Brooklyn—via car service again.
I couldn’t believe my ears. I finally had the machine back home and now I had to do an about-face?
So back downtown I go, and the techies fiddled with it while I burned for a total of five minutes before clearing up the problem—which they somehow couldn’t do over the phone.
And then I had to call car service yet again and lug the computer home--again.
But just as I was struggling up the steps with the computer, a terrible sick feeling washed over me--and a quick search of the computer box confirmed my fears.
The techie had removed the power cord from the computer but neglected to put it back. So I had a computer but no way to switch on the son-of-a-bitch.
“Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer Do…”
The repair store agreed to deliver the cord to my house and once it arrived I figured my troubles were over.
Oh, hell no. I tried to use Microsoft Word, but it seems I needed some kind of number to reactivate the software and, of course, I had no such number.
Okay, this is where when I went berserk.
There’s no other way to say this. I cursed, I fumed, and I must have terrified the neighbors and probably the commuters on the Staten Island ferry.
What stopped anyone in the immediate vicinity from calling the police or Animal Control, I don’t know. But I’m truly ashamed of myself and I’m wondering if I should work nights so I won’t have to show my face to anyone.
Maybe I could drive for a car service.
Part of the problem is that I am so incredibly clueless about computers that I feel totally stranded when they go kaput. If I had a little more knowledge—and if I kept better records—I’d be a lot happier.
But, of course, I pretty much guarantee these temper tantrums are going to happen because I don’t take the time to learn about these devices that control so much of our lives.
Right now I’m like a caveman with stereo. I like the pretty music but if the sound dies I start banging my chest and swinging my club.
I had to call Microsoft twice before I could finally get the number and get back on line.
Now all I need is a job.