No, no, not again! There’s an Indian bug eating me. Killing me. His name is Aadi Shalandria. I figure somehow he is connected to the Maharanee of Rashmeri. She has become the highest female president of any company in Mumbai. Her control is total over employment of computer technicians. From Aadi himself I have learned there are 40000 technicians working 24 hours a day. Each one has hundreds of large books in every known language at his finger tips. They explain what to do, how to fix computer problems. Shalandria, for some unknown reason, seems out to destroy me.
My computer is only four years old. I’ve had three others before I bought my current Dell. Netscape and AOL are my carriers. The Dell is my personal puter and my best friend. It keeps me alive, offers me the world –most of the time. Today trouble began. Suddenly and without me touching a key, my icons went crazy. The tool bar that has always been on the bottom of my screen, went unaided to the top. It is most uncomfortable for me and I see no reason for the puter to rule me.
At 6 a.m. I dial, 1 800-246-7216 and an animated voice says, ‘Thank you for calling Netscape.’To be rotten, I don’t say to a nobody, ‘Glad to be here.’ The hidden person gets the action started. ‘What are the first seven letters of your screen name? I tell it, ‘Sweet52.’ He comes back and tells me that is incorrect and reads me what he recorded. The bout goes on. ‘Of course it’s wrong. You left off the 52.’ I do feel stupid talking to nobody and the nobody is making mistakes. When that gets straightened out, I am asked for my home phone number in case we are disconnected. To dead air I say, ‘Good idea,’ and add ‘562-7417.’ The phone seems to be getting heavier and heavier, hurts my ear. Then I realize I goofed and didn’t give him the area code. Immediately my phone goes dead and I almost wish I were.
Instead I got a big slice of chocolate cream pie from the fridge, gobbled it down with a glass of cold milk. Unsatisfied, I took another smaller slice. Being so angry and upset I knew would solve nothing. I washed my hands and dialed Netscape again. Everything went well until a technician asked if he could help me. Another automated voice said, ‘Your wait will be approximately eight minutes.’ I told the shadow to go to hell and hung up again.
A TV. break and quick nap and I dialed 1-800-246-7216. Finally thru with all the technicalities, I was able to discern a human voice. It asked if I would mind if he called me Harold. ‘No problem,’ I reply and ask’ What is yours?’ He told me what sounded like ‘Oh Cash’. ‘Will you please spell that for me, Oh Cash?’ I asked. ‘ A like in apple, a like in apple, k like in king, a like in apple, s like in sugar and h like in hall.’
I couldn’t help but laugh, ‘That’s a lot of applesauce Aakash.’ He didn’t get it.
The tech called me Harold and asked me what the problem was. Before I was going to be disconnected again I sped through my trouble. He listened to my tale of woe about the icons and tool bar moving by themselves and asked me to please hold on. He would be back quickly.
After he found the correct book, he began to give me instructions to follow on my computer. I could not understand his accent, complimented him on its softness only to be told he couldn’t understand me well either. That was it. I quit.
In the morning I checked the want ads and found dozens of computer techs who would come to my house. I chose one who sounded knowledgeable and his price was fair. In one hour he was seated at my computer. He put the cursor on the tool bar, clicked the left one once and then the right one twice and the task bar switched to the bottom of the screen. Each icon he locked in where I wanted it to be. I almost could have kissed him.
Instead I gave him a check for $50 and the last piece of chocolate cream pie that had been laying on the kitchen table for hours. He went away happy and I was back in business ready to email my tale of woe to my entire address book of friends. My phone rang. ‘This is Netscape calling you back. We were disconnected this afternoon, a slightly familiar voice explained. ‘May we help you?’
Loud enough for him to hear me across the Atlantic Ocean, I shouted, ‘NO!’ and hung up.
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