Byte Me Computer Repair Services

Not being as computer literate as I would like, I was a little intimidated as I drove up to the repair shop. My computer quit on me after I innocently slammed it on the floor, for what I like to call non-cooperation. The parking lot was filled with people who reminded me of the Geek Squad commercial, mulling around in the sunshine talking about cookies and bugs. I knew I was out of my element as I pulled in between a BMW, a VW, and an SUV. I made a mental note to initial my own car, but promptly canned that idea realizing it would be an FF.

Thank God the lady who greeted me was in my age range. She ushered me up to the counter and told me how nice I was to visit them. Obviously she didn’t understand that I would rather have had several boils lanced than be visiting her establishment. We set up shop and proceeded to discuss my problem, and as it turned out, I had several serious issues needing repair. I had the impression she was evaluating my moral and ethical character because of my flagrant disregard for my computer’s well being. I had neglected to update anti-virus protection, and the dog had slobbered on my screen, which, turns out, could lead to moisture collecting in the keyboard. Who knew? My dog loves to chase the cursor around the screen when I write.

She asked me if I had some program ( that NASA would struggle to decipher) installed on my computer. I said uhh, umm, noting a snicker from the gentleman behind me, impatiently tapping his foot. These people just don’t understand that the extent of my computer knowledge is turn on, find Word, type, copy, paste, and turn off. I’m still in a battle with the ink company because they tell me I need a color cartridge to print in black and white. I actually found myself explaining my Yankee thriftiness to Raheej, in India. I should know better.

Much to the delight of the tap dancer behind me, I left my laptop with the repair people and went home to twiddle my thumbs for two days. My inactivity was beginning to wear on my loving family. My sister ordered me out of her kitchen after I merely suggested we rearrange the cabinets. The kids didn’t appreciate my efforts to make a game out of cleaning their rooms. They ran to their mother like babies and tattled on me. My niece offered to buy me a new computer. When the repair shop called to tell me my computer was ready for pick-up, there was great joy in Mudville.

The lady could have tucked in an additional toilet break charge without me knowing it, because the list was so extensive. I had forgotten my reading glasses as I was being hurriedly escorted to my car by my nine year old grand nephew. Wanting to assert some imaginary control over my obvious disadvantage in understanding the bill, I spent a few minutes blindly examining the scroll. Alternately raising my eyebrows and nodding, I hoped to leave the lady with the impression that I was a mystery shopper, or even a plant for a “Dateline” investigation. She compliantly explained each eyebrow raiser in a language of tongues, as I feigned comprehension. I think we must have formed a bond of sorts, when my credit card company approved the charge, because both our eyebrows went up simultaneously.

It took me several months to become accustomed to my computer, struggling almost painfully to commit to memory each tap of the key to bring me to my comfort zone in the world of cyberspace. I will not live long enough to become re-accustomed to this one. Certain things are crucial to me when I use my computer. My pretty wall paper design is now a victim of that black hole everyone worries about. My nephew was peeved when I called him at work to ask where he thought my documents might be hiding. I had to call Raheej in India again, to walk me through re-installing my printer, and he was extremely condescending, referring to me as “little lady”. If he only knew. (He never mentioned the ink cartridge.) The next time this thing gives me an attitude, I’m trashing it and buying a new one, and Raheej can bite me.



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