August 9, 2007

I have this computer at home. A friend needed to get rid of it fast and he needed a vacuum, so I traded him. Anyway, I don’t even use it that much. Sometimes if I’m going to a coffee shop to look at women, I’ll bring it with me to look busy, but that’s about all.


The other day, I overheard some dudes at work – the fatso and the fruit – and they were talking about some internet video of water buffaloes fighting lions. I don’t know about you, but that’s the kind of thing I can build a whole night around. I stopped at the supermarket on the way home and picked up some things to get me in the mood: Buffalo jerky, buffalo wings, Frosted Flakes, some cupcakes, and a bottle of white wine. (Side note: I couldn’t find any lion-related items at the store, so I settled for the Flakes because of the Tiger. It was the best I could do.) When I got home, I was really jazzed for a good old-fashioned jungle fight. I turned on my computer and boom – nothing happened. Just a weird clucking noise and a black screen, so I did what anybody would do. I punched my computer and then I called tech support.

This Indian dude takes my name, my phone number, and my email address. I gave him some fakes. I have enough problems in India without the cops finding out where I live. Then he wants me to tell him the problem with the computer. “The damn thing don’t work!” I say. He says “Okay, Sir, it would be my pleasure to assist you with that today.” I’m thinking, it would be my pleasure to stick your ass on top of the Taj Mahal, but I don’t say it because I’m smart. You catch more flies with really friendly decoy flies, that’s what I always say.


So I let this guy tell me what he thinks is wrong and then he asks for the serial number. I give that to him, too, and then he tells me I don’t have a warranty anymore. I’ve been on the phone for ten minutes already and now he tells me he can’t help me because of some stupid warranty. I’m ready to kill this guy, but I play nice and then the guy tells me he can help, but it’s going to cost me fifty bucks. Fifty bucks? If I’m paying you fifty bucks to fix a computer, (a) you’re going to do it naked and (b) you’re going to cook me dinner. Well, you can’t do either if you’re halfway around the globe so I hung up on that idiot.


Long story short, I got rid of the laptop right away. Did what I always do with broken gizmos: Threw it into the dumpster and filed a police report saying somebody stole it. Next time somebody turns in a lost laptop to the fuzz, I’m going to have myself a new computer. It just goes to show you: you can screw with Old Creed all you want, but in the end he’s always going to win.


p.s. If I ever find you, “Franklin,” I’m going to take you out Tamil Tiger style and I never forget a voice, even when you’re talking in a fake American accent.