The Stuff That Strokes Are Made Of
I downloaded an update on Tuesday, I think, from Windows. It obviously changed the configuration of certain things and the gods know what else. One problem I encountered was that I could no longer print things from my e-mails, and from pages on websites that feature blogs I generally read. An error message would come up every time. And if I did try to print something from my e-mail, the e-mail that I was trying to print would lock up so I had to shut down the computer and restart it every time.
However, if I went to those sites via Mozilla Firefox I didn’t have the problem. But since my “favorites” (bookmarks) are listed on the Internet Explorer search engine I’m more comfortable using that one.
Not knowing what the problem was all about, I called Time Warner. Since they’re not to blame, they gave me the number of HP. (I didn’t want to bother you with this stuff.)
I ended up speaking for like 40 minutes to a gal named Ruby at HP’s Technical Help for Printers Dept, or some such name. She eventually told me that my printer is just too old (I have it 6 years already) to handle the upgrade. And she talked me into buying a newer version of a laserjet that would do the job and only cost $74.99. Plus a warranty free for a year and only $1 for the succeeding year. All sounded OK to me so I placed the order yesterday afternoon.
And “it” actually arrived this afternoon, like at 2:00 pm. (Amazing in itself, since a first class letter would never get there that quickly, and the delivery was without charge.) However, on the outside box was printed the word “REFURBISHED” so I was sharp enough to not open the box, and called HP.
Then, a conversation with a “global” employee began to steadily increase my pharmaceutically-kept-in-check blood pressure. I explained what had happened and “how come the word ‘refurbished’ was never uttered by the gal from whom I bought the machine?” This part of the dialogue had already taken about 25 minutes, what with all the numbers of my phone, address, serial number of the printer, etc. etc. So I asked him point blank: “Is this a new machine or a used machine?” He agreed to the word used, but insisted it was just like new and the price was so good anyway…
But the clincher to get my bp over the boiling point hadn’t been uttered yet. That came when he told me that not only was it a refurbished machine but that it was the same Laser 1020 model that I already have (which just happens to be working fine, except for the update business). That did it. He asked me what I would like to do with the machine. I told him “I would like to throw the fucking thing out the window, is what I’d really like.” And then words to the effect of: how in hell could that bitch named Ruby tell me that I needed a newer model to resolve the problem and then sell me the same fucking thing? Etc.
They did enclose a return label, and as I headed to the UPS store on 3rd Avenue, with the box on my little old-time metal luggage carrying device, I lucked out by finding the UPS truck right downstairs and I gave the package to the driver, who I’ve known for years. He said that if I had gone to the UPS store, they would have probably charged me $10.
Anyway, I think I’ve calmed down some in the past 5 hours – I’m enjoying a Pernod/Crème de Menthe (3-1 ratio) on ice.
IS EVERY FUCKING SALESPERSON IN THIS WORLD A TOTAL SCUMBAG (OR DOUCHEBAG IN THIS CASE)?
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