Blognari has reached over 10,000 unique views, friends! In celebration I'd like to make a special post, but to do that I feel it only proper to write about something you guys want me to. So if you have any requests, feel free to let me know. I may even try to tackle all of them provided I don't get an overwhelming amount of suggestions.
In the meanwhile, I'd just like to thank you all for your continued interest in my writing. It means a lot to me. I never thought anyone but family would read regularly when I started this blog just a few years ago (old entries are actually from another site that I transferred over one-by-one), yet here we are.
Just a few more stats to reflect on:
The most viewed entry is Golf Drinking Games.
Most of my viewers are from the United States with Sweden coming in second. Hi Sweden.
The majority of my readers use Firefox.
The most used operating system of my viewers is Windows.
The majority of my traffic comes from Google.
The most commonly used search term that leads users to my blog is Blognari.
The least viewed entry is No Sleep For The Sleepy.
The country that has viewed the least of my writing is South Korea.
The least used browser for my blogs is Opera.
The least used operating system of my viewers is Samsung.
The least amount of my traffic comes from Deviant Art.
The least commonly used search term that leads users to my blog is circumcision. lol, what?
I've got a cold and just sneezed not once but nine times, so I think I'll wrap this up. Do you know what happens when you sneeze that many times individually? Your eyes water so badly it looks like you're crying. Huh.
Thanks again for reading!
Friday, September 27, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
PC Sales & Repair
I used to run my own business: PC sales and repair. I was making overhead, which translates to being successful when you're a little company competing with the likes of Best Buy, Dell, Alienware, and EMC. There is this weird thing that happens with people who have technological problems and those who can solve them: the person who cannot fix the problem on their own because they know little if anything at all about technology refuses to acquiesce to the professional in the field.
Here I'll share some of my finest customer relations moments, letting you find amusement in my past suffering.
The Browser
The first person I ever helped was an old man who wanted help accessing websites on the internet. Nothing needed to be fixed and he didn't need a new computer built, he just wanted to know how to use the computer he had. It was a really simple problem I thought I could fix over the phone (I wasn't deaf yet) so I try to guide him through it.
"Which browser are you trying to use?" I ask, not that it particularly matters.
He sounds confused, "Which what?"
"Browser," I repeat.
"I'm the browser."
He had no idea what I was even talking about. He wasn't wrong, really, he was the person who would be browsing the internet, thus the browser, however... just... oh boy. I explain browsers to him and where he might find his. All computers default to Internet Explorer and for this particular case I wasn't even going to get into the fact that others exist and he should download and install one of them instead. Not over the phone. I tell him, "Look at your desktop for a blue lowercase E."
"Where's the desktop?"
At this point I regret not charging him. Not because it was getting old really fast but because I was literally having to put other work aside to continue helping him. I suck it up and explain to him what his desktop is and he finds the 'e' after some looking. He clicks on it. Once.
"Nothing happened."
He clicked with such force, the once, that I heard it over the phone, "Click it twice." He proceeds to click it once, then a second later click it one more time, "No, no, you need to click it twice really fast. No pause in between." I couldn't believe those words came out of my mouth. He finally gets it then freaks out a little when it takes him to like, his homepage.
"I didn't type anything in and it took me to a place!"
I explain it's just his homepage and tell him to click on the address bar at the top. This takes some searching and coaching but he gets it eventually. I inform him to clear it out, which he does. I then ask, "Alright, which website would you like to go to?"
"I don't know."
Uhm... alright, we'll start with something basic and useful, I guess. "Alright, well we'll start you off with a search engine, you can find all sorts of other websites using one of those."He sounds excited to finally be underway and so I tell him to type, "w-w-w-.-g-o-o-g-l-e-.-c-o-m"
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Why doesn't it make any sense, sir?"
"It's not a sentence."
"...It isn't supposed to be a sentence."
"But that doesn't make sense."
I take a deep cleansing breath and offer in explaination, "Neither are street addresses but the mail still goes to where you send it to, right?"
"I guess so."
No, no, you don't guess so. That's how the mail works, guy. "This is kind of the same thing."
He sounds really hesitant, like maybe I'm just a crazy person, "Okay..."
"Did it work?"
"I'm someplace else now." he sounds really concerned again and describes Google to me in vivid detail.
"Yes, that's where you're supposed to be. Now see the empty box in the middle? Type anything you want into that and it'll bring up a bunch of websites related to what you typed in."
It's quiet for a few minutes other than his typing, which was really more like hammering his keyboard, then he makes a sound like a child who just ate their very first marshmallow. He's so very stoked that he can barely contain his joy. He thanks me so much I half expect a shrine to be erected in my honor, which makes up for the hours I spent explaining the very very basics of the internet to him.
The Biblical Librarian
Another time I was building a new computer for an old retired pastor. He wasn't comfortable setting it all up by himself, and I made house calls, so when his PC was done being built I drove it over to set it up for him. Entering a stranger's house is always a little strange, but especially so in this case. His house was a library. Every room was lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. It was the coolest house I'd ever been to. Then I realized what was on the shelves and it became a little obsessive and weird. Bibles. Thousands and thousands of bibles. Each and every one different than the one beside it in some way. Either different color, material, or version.
I wasn't sure if I was about to be converted or turned into a skin-suit. He was really kindly though, and never once brought up religion while I crawled around his study (not sure how it differed from any other room in the house) and hooked up his computer. None of this is why he was a bad customer experience though.
My computers came with discounted service 24 hours a day, house calls, and lifetime replacement. So when he called the following week because his computer wouldn't work, I got in the car and drove the ten miles through blizzard conditions to his house to find out what was wrong. It took 45 minutes to get there because of the ice and snow and utter lack of salt trucks or shoveling trucks. Once I got in I realized right away what the problem was: the computer was off.
I explain turning the computer on to him, along with showing him which button to press and then depart. The next week I get the same call. I ask him before heading over if the computer is on or off and he says on, so I drive back to his house only to discover yet again that the computer is off. This goes on for months. Driving 45 minutes through ice and snow only to discover there's no problem at all. Eventually it just randomly stopped one day. I'm not sure if he just finally remembered that to use the computer it had to be on or if maybe he died, because he was pretty old.
The Cheapskate
I also offered refurbished computers using either parts in the store on-hand or parts customers already owned. I fully disclosed that refurbished and patchwork computers would not be as fast or 'good' as a computer filled with brand new higher end parts and people would always nod, sign the appropriate form concerning their expectations and we'd get underway. Usually there wasn't a problem with my work, because people had realistic expectations. Sometimes though, even after hearing the speech and signing the forms, they expected top-of-the-line.
Refurbished work was done really cheaply, especially if the customer had all the parts on hand themselves. Anywhere from 50 to 200 dollars, the higher end being if I had to buy something myself. Typically this work was done for people who literally could not afford otherwise, so I always tried to work with them on the pricing. Sometimes accepting the payment in halves rather than all up front. My mistake.
One such customer came to me for a refurbished computer using parts from two very old, crappy even-for-their-time computers. I notified them that I could use parts on-hand for just a little extra and it'd run faster and be more reliable but they insisted I use their really really old, bottom-of-the-line parts. Upon inspection I discovered not only were the parts from both original computers very old and poor quality to begin with but also that several of the parts had never been compatible in the first place.
I told them as much, laid it all out, and suggested strongly that I just use things I had in the shop for some of the stuff. They insisted "it always at least turned on and that's all they really need it to do anyhow" and that'd be good enough. Alright, I don't know what good a basically useless computer would do anyone who needed it for anything other than maybe doing wordpad and possibly instant messaging but my job wasn't to argue so I agree to use exactly all of the parts they wanted me to. They paid me half upfront and were going to pay me the second half once they got their paycheck.
They took it home and were totally dissatisfied. They called to complain, "It's so slow! I can't use it to play my games on! I can't use it to make music with! I can't run multiple programs at once! It's nothing like a new computer!"
No shit Sherlock. We had discussed all of that. It's a patchwork computer that was rigged specifically to your exact specifications without spending any extra money whatsoever. It had less than a gig of RAM, to give you an idea. And bear in mind this person was not poor. They easily could have afforded to spend even 50 more dollars for a PC that would have run rather well. They probably even could have afforded for me to build them a brand new PC entirely but they chose this instead. Because they were cheap. I'm not sure what sort of fantasy land they live in or what kind of wizard they mistook me for, but I can't work magic.
Not only did this guy never finish paying for his computer and the work rendered but he went on to complain about my shop and his service experience to everyone he knew. It didn't help that he was lying to people. He went around claiming to have paid for a new computer only to recieve the hot mess I built him. Thank goodness I had all of the paperwork to prove otherwise. Also lucky enough for me I had such a positive reputation by then that people knew what he was saying couldn't be right. Had this happened a year earlier it may have unjustly killed my business outright though as word of mouth is everything for small companies.
The Slow Lady
Another time I had a lady come in complaining that she must have a virus, that her computer was slow -- especially on the internet, and it was driving her crazy. I go in to take a look to realize that on her husband's account he had filled over 60% of their harddrive space with porn. I wasn't really sure how to broach that topic, so I just suggested an external harddrive complete with data transfer. Namely because I don't think the absurdly Christian wife would have been pleased with her husband's clearly taboo porn collection. To compound the issue the wife had not 1 anti-virus program installed but 4. and they all recognized the other as a threat. Then, on top of it all, they had a dial-up modem and were still using dial-up internet. Not because they were living in the sticks like a lot of my customers but because they simply didn't know better. It must have taken her husband years to download all of that porn.
So I tell her that to absolve all of her problems she'll need a larger harddrive or an external one and I'd throw in a complementary data transfer (something most companies charge and arm and a leg for but it's kind of the easiest thing in the world to do). She was cool with this. I then tell her she only needs 1 anti-virus program, if any. This she seems hesitant about, isn't more always better?! No, no it's not. After some explaining she gets why it's bad and agrees to let me uninstall all but 1 of them (which inevitably saved her hundreds of dollars as none of the programs she had installed were free). Then I tell her the reason her internet is slow is because she has a dial-up modem and she's using dial-up internet. She assures me that's not the problem and the other two fixes will surely speed things up enough.
I reluctantly let it slide and do everything else and send her on her way. A couple of days later she comes back, slams the computer on my desk in a furious rage and says I did not do what she paid me to do. I'm taken quite aback as I had done exactly what she paid me to do, and then some, and ask her what the problem is. That if there is one, I'll gladly fix it free of charge.
"The internet is still slow!!!!!!!!!"
I don't think I used enough exclamation points to accurately depict how loud and in my face she was about it. I calmly explain to her, yet again, why dial-up internet is slow. Her response?
"My friend's internet isn't anywhere near this slow!"
I explain dial-up internet, again, andthen inform her that her friend undoubtedly has a cable modem. Something I'd be happy to install for her, as I had previously advised, if she wished. Not free of charge of course. She refuses to believe this is true. She goes off on a tirade about how she knew she should have gone to Best Buy and how small companies just can't be trusted and so on and so forth. I suck it all up and calmly offer her my phone. I tell her to call her friend and ask them what kind of internet they have. I tell her if it is dial-up that I'd refund all of her money and install a cable modem free of charge. She leaps at the chance to show me how wrong I am.
I stand quietly, smiling, as she dials the number and carries on a conversation with her friend about how incompetent I am. I stand quietly, smiling, as she asks her friend what sort of internet they use. I stand quietly, smiling, as she makes her friend go ask her husband to double check. I continue to stand there quietly, smiling, as she just stands there for a minute not saying anything and then ends the conversation with her friend with a snippy "I've gotta go."
I offer her my most charming, understanding expression, "Well?"
"They use Time Warner Cable."
I resist the undeniable urge to I TOLD YOU SO YOU RAGING HOSEBEAST, and just nod and say instead, "I'll still do the work for you if you'd like." She agrees with as few words as possible and leaves. While she's gone I call Best Buy and get a quote for the work I'd already done plus the work I was doing and staple it to her receipt when she comes back. She saved over 150 dollars. She was too embarrassed to say anything about it.
The Case of Who Dun It
I saved the best for last. This was an older gentleman who came in after his son fixed his computer for him and it stopped working. He had needed more RAM, he tells me, and his son does this sort of thing sometimes so he just got the RAM and his son did it for him no problem.
Now let me just take a second there to pause and say: no problem except that now his computer didn't work.
I agree to take a look at it for free since he's an older man on a fixed income, normally a 5 dollar fee for cracking a case, and take it into the back. No sooner had I gotten the screws out and looked down I knew exactly what the problem was. The man's son had inserted the RAM not only backwards but upside-down. I actually kind of wanted to meet this guy as getting RAM in the right way is always kind of a challenge, managing to force it in that wrongly must have been near impossible. Yet here it was, staring me in the face. I was gone for all of a minute, maybe a few seconds longer.
I come out, computer in hand, to show the man his problem. I direct his attention to the RAM, explain how wrong this all is, and that putting it in this way and then hitting the power probably also shorted out the motherboard. I say I probably have a few compatible boards in the back and could probably fix it to where it was working as before for a modest price if he'd like, or I could build him something brand new as what he brought in was on the older end of the spectrum for electronics. I'm not at all expecting the response I get.
"YOU DID THAT!"
I'm pretty sure my mouth was agape with the shock," Excuse me, sir?"
"YOU DID THAT! YOU TOOK IT BACK THERE AND BROKE IT!"
I do my best to remain calm even though I'm certain my face betrays how completely surprised and disgusted I am, "No, sir. I don't even think I have the strength to do this if I had wanted to. This is exactly how it was when I opened it. I was only back there for a minute."
"YOU DID THAT WHEN YOU TOOK IT BACK THERE SO I'D HAVE TO PAY TO HAVE IT FIXED!"
I gently remind him that he brought it in in the first place because it wasn't working and needed to be fixed but he'll hear none of it. He storms out, without his computer and just leaves. I'm left standing there, holding the guy's computer trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. I close it back up and set it in the back should the man return for it.
He comes back the following day and asks if it's ready.
What.
What?
Just... what?
He actually expected me to just fix it, without actually being told to, or taking any of his personal information let alone you know, payment. I blink and explain that I hadn't worked on it in his absence because he hadn't asked me to, or paid for it, and that it's illegal for me to just assume and render services without expressed consent from the owner. He's angry now because I've apparently wasted his time. He tells me as much and storms out again.
...Does he wants me to work on the computer or not? I'm SO confused. Is his departure consent to fix it... or? I have no idea.
He comes back about an hour later with his son. His son asks if I've begun working on the computer yet. I'm standing face-to-face with the gorilla-man who crammed RAM into a motherboard backwards and upside-down. He has soft, girly hands. He's wearing clear nail polish. It's literally all I can focus on. I don't even have it in me to be confused or shocked this time. I explain the situation and that, no, I have not begun working on it yet. He says that's great because his dad wants to just build a new PC.
What the hell is even going on in my life?
I coolly accept the work order and the payment and get to work. The guy is thrilled with the price and performance of his computer and does nothing but sing my praise when I call a week later for my follow-up. As if none of the shit that had happened between up previously had ever transpired.
When my health failed and I had to close up shop, I decided I was pretty much done working with the general public. Because, I mean, really. Really.
On a related note though, you should always, always go to a small local company over the big brand guys. Not only because you, the customer, are literally the lifeblood of small business and will therefor receive better treatment and service but because you will save a shit-ton of money. You'll save even more money if you just buy whatever parts you need and do it yourself, but I understand not everyone has the know-how or desire to build their own computer. If you're going to go with someone else, make it someone local and dependent on your business.
At the time my shop operated a top-of-the-ine PC from Alienware ran $2500. A lot of people will just assume that because it's a big name that the parts must somehow be superior. They're not. I could build the exact same computer for under $900. That's including a mark-up so that I'm making more than just the money the parts themselves cost me. Why do the chain stores mark up so high? For no reason whatsoever. The same exact items put into your computer by Alienware, HP, Dell, or EMC can be put into your computer by anyone. There is no difference whatsoever.
Next time your computer fails you, check the Yellow Pages or ask Google to find you a local shop. Be treated like a person, save a lot of money, be happy with your purchase, and please -- please defer to the advice of professionals. You went to them for a reason.
Here I'll share some of my finest customer relations moments, letting you find amusement in my past suffering.
The Browser
The first person I ever helped was an old man who wanted help accessing websites on the internet. Nothing needed to be fixed and he didn't need a new computer built, he just wanted to know how to use the computer he had. It was a really simple problem I thought I could fix over the phone (I wasn't deaf yet) so I try to guide him through it.
"Which browser are you trying to use?" I ask, not that it particularly matters.
He sounds confused, "Which what?"
"Browser," I repeat.
"I'm the browser."
He had no idea what I was even talking about. He wasn't wrong, really, he was the person who would be browsing the internet, thus the browser, however... just... oh boy. I explain browsers to him and where he might find his. All computers default to Internet Explorer and for this particular case I wasn't even going to get into the fact that others exist and he should download and install one of them instead. Not over the phone. I tell him, "Look at your desktop for a blue lowercase E."
"Where's the desktop?"
At this point I regret not charging him. Not because it was getting old really fast but because I was literally having to put other work aside to continue helping him. I suck it up and explain to him what his desktop is and he finds the 'e' after some looking. He clicks on it. Once.
"Nothing happened."
He clicked with such force, the once, that I heard it over the phone, "Click it twice." He proceeds to click it once, then a second later click it one more time, "No, no, you need to click it twice really fast. No pause in between." I couldn't believe those words came out of my mouth. He finally gets it then freaks out a little when it takes him to like, his homepage.
"I didn't type anything in and it took me to a place!"
I explain it's just his homepage and tell him to click on the address bar at the top. This takes some searching and coaching but he gets it eventually. I inform him to clear it out, which he does. I then ask, "Alright, which website would you like to go to?"
"I don't know."
Uhm... alright, we'll start with something basic and useful, I guess. "Alright, well we'll start you off with a search engine, you can find all sorts of other websites using one of those."He sounds excited to finally be underway and so I tell him to type, "w-w-w-.-g-o-o-g-l-e-.-c-o-m"
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Why doesn't it make any sense, sir?"
"It's not a sentence."
"...It isn't supposed to be a sentence."
"But that doesn't make sense."
I take a deep cleansing breath and offer in explaination, "Neither are street addresses but the mail still goes to where you send it to, right?"
"I guess so."
No, no, you don't guess so. That's how the mail works, guy. "This is kind of the same thing."
He sounds really hesitant, like maybe I'm just a crazy person, "Okay..."
"Did it work?"
"I'm someplace else now." he sounds really concerned again and describes Google to me in vivid detail.
"Yes, that's where you're supposed to be. Now see the empty box in the middle? Type anything you want into that and it'll bring up a bunch of websites related to what you typed in."
It's quiet for a few minutes other than his typing, which was really more like hammering his keyboard, then he makes a sound like a child who just ate their very first marshmallow. He's so very stoked that he can barely contain his joy. He thanks me so much I half expect a shrine to be erected in my honor, which makes up for the hours I spent explaining the very very basics of the internet to him.
The Biblical Librarian
Another time I was building a new computer for an old retired pastor. He wasn't comfortable setting it all up by himself, and I made house calls, so when his PC was done being built I drove it over to set it up for him. Entering a stranger's house is always a little strange, but especially so in this case. His house was a library. Every room was lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. It was the coolest house I'd ever been to. Then I realized what was on the shelves and it became a little obsessive and weird. Bibles. Thousands and thousands of bibles. Each and every one different than the one beside it in some way. Either different color, material, or version.
I wasn't sure if I was about to be converted or turned into a skin-suit. He was really kindly though, and never once brought up religion while I crawled around his study (not sure how it differed from any other room in the house) and hooked up his computer. None of this is why he was a bad customer experience though.
My computers came with discounted service 24 hours a day, house calls, and lifetime replacement. So when he called the following week because his computer wouldn't work, I got in the car and drove the ten miles through blizzard conditions to his house to find out what was wrong. It took 45 minutes to get there because of the ice and snow and utter lack of salt trucks or shoveling trucks. Once I got in I realized right away what the problem was: the computer was off.
I explain turning the computer on to him, along with showing him which button to press and then depart. The next week I get the same call. I ask him before heading over if the computer is on or off and he says on, so I drive back to his house only to discover yet again that the computer is off. This goes on for months. Driving 45 minutes through ice and snow only to discover there's no problem at all. Eventually it just randomly stopped one day. I'm not sure if he just finally remembered that to use the computer it had to be on or if maybe he died, because he was pretty old.
The Cheapskate
I also offered refurbished computers using either parts in the store on-hand or parts customers already owned. I fully disclosed that refurbished and patchwork computers would not be as fast or 'good' as a computer filled with brand new higher end parts and people would always nod, sign the appropriate form concerning their expectations and we'd get underway. Usually there wasn't a problem with my work, because people had realistic expectations. Sometimes though, even after hearing the speech and signing the forms, they expected top-of-the-line.
Refurbished work was done really cheaply, especially if the customer had all the parts on hand themselves. Anywhere from 50 to 200 dollars, the higher end being if I had to buy something myself. Typically this work was done for people who literally could not afford otherwise, so I always tried to work with them on the pricing. Sometimes accepting the payment in halves rather than all up front. My mistake.
One such customer came to me for a refurbished computer using parts from two very old, crappy even-for-their-time computers. I notified them that I could use parts on-hand for just a little extra and it'd run faster and be more reliable but they insisted I use their really really old, bottom-of-the-line parts. Upon inspection I discovered not only were the parts from both original computers very old and poor quality to begin with but also that several of the parts had never been compatible in the first place.
I told them as much, laid it all out, and suggested strongly that I just use things I had in the shop for some of the stuff. They insisted "it always at least turned on and that's all they really need it to do anyhow" and that'd be good enough. Alright, I don't know what good a basically useless computer would do anyone who needed it for anything other than maybe doing wordpad and possibly instant messaging but my job wasn't to argue so I agree to use exactly all of the parts they wanted me to. They paid me half upfront and were going to pay me the second half once they got their paycheck.
They took it home and were totally dissatisfied. They called to complain, "It's so slow! I can't use it to play my games on! I can't use it to make music with! I can't run multiple programs at once! It's nothing like a new computer!"
No shit Sherlock. We had discussed all of that. It's a patchwork computer that was rigged specifically to your exact specifications without spending any extra money whatsoever. It had less than a gig of RAM, to give you an idea. And bear in mind this person was not poor. They easily could have afforded to spend even 50 more dollars for a PC that would have run rather well. They probably even could have afforded for me to build them a brand new PC entirely but they chose this instead. Because they were cheap. I'm not sure what sort of fantasy land they live in or what kind of wizard they mistook me for, but I can't work magic.
Not only did this guy never finish paying for his computer and the work rendered but he went on to complain about my shop and his service experience to everyone he knew. It didn't help that he was lying to people. He went around claiming to have paid for a new computer only to recieve the hot mess I built him. Thank goodness I had all of the paperwork to prove otherwise. Also lucky enough for me I had such a positive reputation by then that people knew what he was saying couldn't be right. Had this happened a year earlier it may have unjustly killed my business outright though as word of mouth is everything for small companies.
The Slow Lady
Another time I had a lady come in complaining that she must have a virus, that her computer was slow -- especially on the internet, and it was driving her crazy. I go in to take a look to realize that on her husband's account he had filled over 60% of their harddrive space with porn. I wasn't really sure how to broach that topic, so I just suggested an external harddrive complete with data transfer. Namely because I don't think the absurdly Christian wife would have been pleased with her husband's clearly taboo porn collection. To compound the issue the wife had not 1 anti-virus program installed but 4. and they all recognized the other as a threat. Then, on top of it all, they had a dial-up modem and were still using dial-up internet. Not because they were living in the sticks like a lot of my customers but because they simply didn't know better. It must have taken her husband years to download all of that porn.
So I tell her that to absolve all of her problems she'll need a larger harddrive or an external one and I'd throw in a complementary data transfer (something most companies charge and arm and a leg for but it's kind of the easiest thing in the world to do). She was cool with this. I then tell her she only needs 1 anti-virus program, if any. This she seems hesitant about, isn't more always better?! No, no it's not. After some explaining she gets why it's bad and agrees to let me uninstall all but 1 of them (which inevitably saved her hundreds of dollars as none of the programs she had installed were free). Then I tell her the reason her internet is slow is because she has a dial-up modem and she's using dial-up internet. She assures me that's not the problem and the other two fixes will surely speed things up enough.
I reluctantly let it slide and do everything else and send her on her way. A couple of days later she comes back, slams the computer on my desk in a furious rage and says I did not do what she paid me to do. I'm taken quite aback as I had done exactly what she paid me to do, and then some, and ask her what the problem is. That if there is one, I'll gladly fix it free of charge.
"The internet is still slow!!!!!!!!!"
I don't think I used enough exclamation points to accurately depict how loud and in my face she was about it. I calmly explain to her, yet again, why dial-up internet is slow. Her response?
"My friend's internet isn't anywhere near this slow!"
I explain dial-up internet, again, andthen inform her that her friend undoubtedly has a cable modem. Something I'd be happy to install for her, as I had previously advised, if she wished. Not free of charge of course. She refuses to believe this is true. She goes off on a tirade about how she knew she should have gone to Best Buy and how small companies just can't be trusted and so on and so forth. I suck it all up and calmly offer her my phone. I tell her to call her friend and ask them what kind of internet they have. I tell her if it is dial-up that I'd refund all of her money and install a cable modem free of charge. She leaps at the chance to show me how wrong I am.
I stand quietly, smiling, as she dials the number and carries on a conversation with her friend about how incompetent I am. I stand quietly, smiling, as she asks her friend what sort of internet they use. I stand quietly, smiling, as she makes her friend go ask her husband to double check. I continue to stand there quietly, smiling, as she just stands there for a minute not saying anything and then ends the conversation with her friend with a snippy "I've gotta go."
I offer her my most charming, understanding expression, "Well?"
"They use Time Warner Cable."
I resist the undeniable urge to I TOLD YOU SO YOU RAGING HOSEBEAST, and just nod and say instead, "I'll still do the work for you if you'd like." She agrees with as few words as possible and leaves. While she's gone I call Best Buy and get a quote for the work I'd already done plus the work I was doing and staple it to her receipt when she comes back. She saved over 150 dollars. She was too embarrassed to say anything about it.
The Case of Who Dun It
I saved the best for last. This was an older gentleman who came in after his son fixed his computer for him and it stopped working. He had needed more RAM, he tells me, and his son does this sort of thing sometimes so he just got the RAM and his son did it for him no problem.
Now let me just take a second there to pause and say: no problem except that now his computer didn't work.
I agree to take a look at it for free since he's an older man on a fixed income, normally a 5 dollar fee for cracking a case, and take it into the back. No sooner had I gotten the screws out and looked down I knew exactly what the problem was. The man's son had inserted the RAM not only backwards but upside-down. I actually kind of wanted to meet this guy as getting RAM in the right way is always kind of a challenge, managing to force it in that wrongly must have been near impossible. Yet here it was, staring me in the face. I was gone for all of a minute, maybe a few seconds longer.
I come out, computer in hand, to show the man his problem. I direct his attention to the RAM, explain how wrong this all is, and that putting it in this way and then hitting the power probably also shorted out the motherboard. I say I probably have a few compatible boards in the back and could probably fix it to where it was working as before for a modest price if he'd like, or I could build him something brand new as what he brought in was on the older end of the spectrum for electronics. I'm not at all expecting the response I get.
"YOU DID THAT!"
I'm pretty sure my mouth was agape with the shock," Excuse me, sir?"
"YOU DID THAT! YOU TOOK IT BACK THERE AND BROKE IT!"
I do my best to remain calm even though I'm certain my face betrays how completely surprised and disgusted I am, "No, sir. I don't even think I have the strength to do this if I had wanted to. This is exactly how it was when I opened it. I was only back there for a minute."
"YOU DID THAT WHEN YOU TOOK IT BACK THERE SO I'D HAVE TO PAY TO HAVE IT FIXED!"
I gently remind him that he brought it in in the first place because it wasn't working and needed to be fixed but he'll hear none of it. He storms out, without his computer and just leaves. I'm left standing there, holding the guy's computer trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. I close it back up and set it in the back should the man return for it.
He comes back the following day and asks if it's ready.
What.
What?
Just... what?
He actually expected me to just fix it, without actually being told to, or taking any of his personal information let alone you know, payment. I blink and explain that I hadn't worked on it in his absence because he hadn't asked me to, or paid for it, and that it's illegal for me to just assume and render services without expressed consent from the owner. He's angry now because I've apparently wasted his time. He tells me as much and storms out again.
...Does he wants me to work on the computer or not? I'm SO confused. Is his departure consent to fix it... or? I have no idea.
He comes back about an hour later with his son. His son asks if I've begun working on the computer yet. I'm standing face-to-face with the gorilla-man who crammed RAM into a motherboard backwards and upside-down. He has soft, girly hands. He's wearing clear nail polish. It's literally all I can focus on. I don't even have it in me to be confused or shocked this time. I explain the situation and that, no, I have not begun working on it yet. He says that's great because his dad wants to just build a new PC.
What the hell is even going on in my life?
I coolly accept the work order and the payment and get to work. The guy is thrilled with the price and performance of his computer and does nothing but sing my praise when I call a week later for my follow-up. As if none of the shit that had happened between up previously had ever transpired.
When my health failed and I had to close up shop, I decided I was pretty much done working with the general public. Because, I mean, really. Really.
On a related note though, you should always, always go to a small local company over the big brand guys. Not only because you, the customer, are literally the lifeblood of small business and will therefor receive better treatment and service but because you will save a shit-ton of money. You'll save even more money if you just buy whatever parts you need and do it yourself, but I understand not everyone has the know-how or desire to build their own computer. If you're going to go with someone else, make it someone local and dependent on your business.
At the time my shop operated a top-of-the-ine PC from Alienware ran $2500. A lot of people will just assume that because it's a big name that the parts must somehow be superior. They're not. I could build the exact same computer for under $900. That's including a mark-up so that I'm making more than just the money the parts themselves cost me. Why do the chain stores mark up so high? For no reason whatsoever. The same exact items put into your computer by Alienware, HP, Dell, or EMC can be put into your computer by anyone. There is no difference whatsoever.
Next time your computer fails you, check the Yellow Pages or ask Google to find you a local shop. Be treated like a person, save a lot of money, be happy with your purchase, and please -- please defer to the advice of professionals. You went to them for a reason.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Welcome to Surpriseville, Population: Just You
If you behave like a d-bag, you should not be shocked when no one wants anything to do with you. Just throwing that out there.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Movie Going: Pacific Rim
Took a stroll through Old Town yesterday, ate crab legs, bought saltwater taffy, saw Pacific Rim, then ate gazpacho.
Pacific Rim was pretty good. The supporting actors were better at acting than the main characters, which was kind of awkward but not totally distracting. The plot reminded me of Forever Bound by Joe Haldeman (included in the book of short stories entitled Warriors I edited by Martin and Dozois) with a bit of Attack on Titan thrown into the mix.
I found it fairly predictable but enjoyable regardless. It had the guy who played Thomas from The Event, the guy who replaced Michael in The Office (also Heimdall), the dude who portrays Warlow from True Blood, the man who played Owen Harper from Torchwood, and Ron Perlman in it.
Pacific Rim was pretty good. The supporting actors were better at acting than the main characters, which was kind of awkward but not totally distracting. The plot reminded me of Forever Bound by Joe Haldeman (included in the book of short stories entitled Warriors I edited by Martin and Dozois) with a bit of Attack on Titan thrown into the mix.
I found it fairly predictable but enjoyable regardless. It had the guy who played Thomas from The Event, the guy who replaced Michael in The Office (also Heimdall), the dude who portrays Warlow from True Blood, the man who played Owen Harper from Torchwood, and Ron Perlman in it.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Boobnari
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| Gratuitous tit shot. |
I've never received any complaints from men. I mean, really, what's there to complain about? Small breasts are perky and will never sag. They are still enjoyable to play with, meanwhile they don't cause me any physical discomfort. Best of all? I don't have to wear a bra.
There are literally no benefits that a large bust has over a small one unless that's simply your "thing." Even in breastfeeding it matters not. Size has nothing to do with glands or milk ducts. Size is solely due to fat deposits. You will produce the same amount of breast milk regardless of your cup size. In actuality small breasts may very well be a boon to breastfeeding as there are more positions and holds available to you.
Yet a lot of women seem to think that since I don't have a C cup, my life must be somehow lacking. That my other physical attributes have to compensate for the fact that the sacks of fat on my chest do not weigh two or more pounds each. A few have even said as much to my face. Like they were trying to boost my fragile small-boob ego. This I will never understand.
Ladies, I don't need an ego boost. I'm sexy and I know it. I do not want tig 'ol bitties. I do not need them. What I have is plenty. Why are you so concerned? Go do twenty jumping jacks, run a mile, and then report back to me how happy you are with your chest size.
Back in the day things weren't like they are now, where girls get boobs at nine years old and have their period at ten. In seventh grade I was one of the very first girls to get boobs at all. I was sent home from school for not wearing a bra and told not to come back until I had bought one. I was mortified.
I'm a very active individual. I danced ballet, I ran upwards of six miles per day, I took my bike anywhere I had to go even if it meant riding it to other cities. All of this undoubtedly had an impact on my development, but when I found out in health class that being extremely active could delay menstruation for several years and impede the development of breasts I wasn't upset. I was ecstatic! By doing what I did already, I could not only avoid the inconvenience of bleeding for several days every single god damned month but not get a giant back-pain inducing rack? It was like Christmas.
So before you think that my great skin or other attributes exist solely to compensate for my small boobs, ask yourself why the hell you think I need to compensate for anything. Are you relying so heavily on your breasts that you can't imagine a life without them? Why? You're putting more emphasis on boobs than guys do. That is a little sad, ladies. What you're doing isn't about helping the other woman, it's about making yourself feel better by trying to make others insecure about themselves. It should not matter to you whether or not you could lose a teacup poodle in my cleavage.
Stop boob-shaming. You are more than your cup size.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Thank You, Miranda!
Thank you, Miranda of MJ Says So for the fantastic surprise gift! The only thing better than a soothing cup of tea is finding an octopus at the bottom.
Why haven't all of you set up your Amazon Wishlists yet? I'd like to buy you random things too, or you know, take the guess work out of birthdays and holidays.
(Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" is courtesy of Lauren of Wymsical Shenanigans, who also found my wishlist.)
Seriously, guys, make a wishlist!
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| Mid-morning snack, now with 100% more octopus! |
(Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" is courtesy of Lauren of Wymsical Shenanigans, who also found my wishlist.)
Seriously, guys, make a wishlist!
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Jerry
Today the man I called Dad would have been sixty years old. It's crazy because no matter how hard I try, I cannot imagine him as an old man. Maybe because the last time I saw him was more than a dozen years ago after he and my mother parted ways (amiably), or maybe because he was just so young-at-heart that I cannot imagine age lines on his face defying that.
He was not my biological father, but he filled the role anyway. I remember the day he pulled my brother and I aside after school and asked if we would be willing to stop calling him by his first name and start calling him Dad like it was yesterday. I must've been in the first grade. We had not yet moved to the city I would associate with the best times of my childhood.
The first time we met we were camping with my mother up near Hell Creek. We were sitting around the campfire toasting marshmallows when he came over with a few other people (I think Uncle Larry was there and maybe the guy who did our taxes) and started playing guitar. I suppose my mother has always liked musicians, these days she's married to a drummer. He was the person who later taught me to sing and play-by-ear. Twelve years in a professional choir are owed entirely to him. I was enrolled in several after school activities, ballet, violin, tap, jazz, but choir was the only one I was passionate about.
He didn't just play the guitar but a myriad of instruments. I'm pretty sure he could play any instrument he picked up well, even if it was for the first time. He was not a musician professionally though. He worked for a major automobile company. It was hard work, but it paid well and he was a good supporter. I'm sure he'd have loved to put together a band and play gigs at his leisure instead, but he knew there were people who depended upon him and he owned up to that.
It wasn't just my brother and me, you see, he had three children of his own from a previous marriage. I didn't like that prospect originally. I didn't want to share my time with him with other kids. After meeting them however, I realized this is what our family was meant to be: large! His oldest daughter was a bookworm; his son, one year younger than me, played a lot of video games; and his youngest daughter would quickly become my very best friend in the whole world. We were inseparable. I got along better with them than I ever had my actual biological brother.
For a while we all lived under one roof. All seven of us, along with two dogs, a cat, three birds, and an aquarium full of fish. The four of us, my brother not included, ran the neighborhood. Our days were spent roaming wild and our evenings were spent with Mom and Dad. Watching The Simpsons or singing and dancing as Dad played an instrument for us. His favorites were the banjo and keyboard.
Every time there was a local event, be it a street fair or a carnival, Dad made sure we all got to go. No matter how expensive it must have been to buy ride tickets for five children. And the city in which we lived held a street fair for just about any reason. Every holiday, no matter how minor. There were even fairs to celebrate things like the sun and water (we lived along a river). Once the Budweiser horses came through the city and he took us all to go see that, because I adored horses and it was his favorite beer afterall.
Every Friday we would walk to a nearby tavern for the Friday Fish Fry. Even though at least two of us didn't like fish, we were always psyched to go. It was time together, as a family. We all looked forward to it. Saturday morning he would watch cartoons with us. At the end of the week when he gave us our allowance, there was no protest when we immediately ran to the penny candy store and spent all of it on candy.
When he realized just how much I enjoyed swimming, he bought us a pool for the back yard. Twice a month or more we'd go camping at the Creek where I first met him. Aside from playing banjo he'd tell us stories around the campfire and help us find the perfect sticks to toast marshmallows on. He'd take us canoeing and swimming. Life was an adventure.
Once while camping, my little sister and I were walking along the shore of a pond catching fish and frogs and other small creatures. Since we were by the water we had of course kicked off our shoes. Carefree and barefoot we went running through the field beside the pond like a pair of young wild horses. I stepped on a bee; I am severely allergic to bees. I fell to the ground reeling in pain. My little sister realized right away something was wrong and ran as fast as her legs could take her back to our campsite, a good half a mile away, to tell an adult. Luckily the bee hadn't stuck me very well and the epi pen did the trick. Dad carried me all the way back to camp.
Sometimes though, two adults who love one another very much cannot simply be together. Even after their divorce my Mom would take me to see him every other weekend though, when he had his own children over and we'd all spend the weekend together like old times: a family. Up until our sudden move out of state, when we lost touch entirely.
I wouldn't hear of his untimely death until several years later, after I reconnected with my long lost siblings (thank you, Internet). It struck me just as hard though. I was taken back to a place where I was eleven years old again, realizing we'd never go camping and I'd never again hear him play the banjo for us. This is my little way of remembering him, writing some of my fondest memories of our time together, so the world knows this man existed and that he was a good person and that he was a great father even to kids who weren't his.
Gerald "Jerry" Sitten, this Bud's for you.
(Photo coming, as mine were stolen by Mr. Tan)
He was not my biological father, but he filled the role anyway. I remember the day he pulled my brother and I aside after school and asked if we would be willing to stop calling him by his first name and start calling him Dad like it was yesterday. I must've been in the first grade. We had not yet moved to the city I would associate with the best times of my childhood.
The first time we met we were camping with my mother up near Hell Creek. We were sitting around the campfire toasting marshmallows when he came over with a few other people (I think Uncle Larry was there and maybe the guy who did our taxes) and started playing guitar. I suppose my mother has always liked musicians, these days she's married to a drummer. He was the person who later taught me to sing and play-by-ear. Twelve years in a professional choir are owed entirely to him. I was enrolled in several after school activities, ballet, violin, tap, jazz, but choir was the only one I was passionate about.
He didn't just play the guitar but a myriad of instruments. I'm pretty sure he could play any instrument he picked up well, even if it was for the first time. He was not a musician professionally though. He worked for a major automobile company. It was hard work, but it paid well and he was a good supporter. I'm sure he'd have loved to put together a band and play gigs at his leisure instead, but he knew there were people who depended upon him and he owned up to that.
It wasn't just my brother and me, you see, he had three children of his own from a previous marriage. I didn't like that prospect originally. I didn't want to share my time with him with other kids. After meeting them however, I realized this is what our family was meant to be: large! His oldest daughter was a bookworm; his son, one year younger than me, played a lot of video games; and his youngest daughter would quickly become my very best friend in the whole world. We were inseparable. I got along better with them than I ever had my actual biological brother.
For a while we all lived under one roof. All seven of us, along with two dogs, a cat, three birds, and an aquarium full of fish. The four of us, my brother not included, ran the neighborhood. Our days were spent roaming wild and our evenings were spent with Mom and Dad. Watching The Simpsons or singing and dancing as Dad played an instrument for us. His favorites were the banjo and keyboard.
Every time there was a local event, be it a street fair or a carnival, Dad made sure we all got to go. No matter how expensive it must have been to buy ride tickets for five children. And the city in which we lived held a street fair for just about any reason. Every holiday, no matter how minor. There were even fairs to celebrate things like the sun and water (we lived along a river). Once the Budweiser horses came through the city and he took us all to go see that, because I adored horses and it was his favorite beer afterall.
Every Friday we would walk to a nearby tavern for the Friday Fish Fry. Even though at least two of us didn't like fish, we were always psyched to go. It was time together, as a family. We all looked forward to it. Saturday morning he would watch cartoons with us. At the end of the week when he gave us our allowance, there was no protest when we immediately ran to the penny candy store and spent all of it on candy.
When he realized just how much I enjoyed swimming, he bought us a pool for the back yard. Twice a month or more we'd go camping at the Creek where I first met him. Aside from playing banjo he'd tell us stories around the campfire and help us find the perfect sticks to toast marshmallows on. He'd take us canoeing and swimming. Life was an adventure.
Once while camping, my little sister and I were walking along the shore of a pond catching fish and frogs and other small creatures. Since we were by the water we had of course kicked off our shoes. Carefree and barefoot we went running through the field beside the pond like a pair of young wild horses. I stepped on a bee; I am severely allergic to bees. I fell to the ground reeling in pain. My little sister realized right away something was wrong and ran as fast as her legs could take her back to our campsite, a good half a mile away, to tell an adult. Luckily the bee hadn't stuck me very well and the epi pen did the trick. Dad carried me all the way back to camp.
Sometimes though, two adults who love one another very much cannot simply be together. Even after their divorce my Mom would take me to see him every other weekend though, when he had his own children over and we'd all spend the weekend together like old times: a family. Up until our sudden move out of state, when we lost touch entirely.
I wouldn't hear of his untimely death until several years later, after I reconnected with my long lost siblings (thank you, Internet). It struck me just as hard though. I was taken back to a place where I was eleven years old again, realizing we'd never go camping and I'd never again hear him play the banjo for us. This is my little way of remembering him, writing some of my fondest memories of our time together, so the world knows this man existed and that he was a good person and that he was a great father even to kids who weren't his.
Gerald "Jerry" Sitten, this Bud's for you.
(Photo coming, as mine were stolen by Mr. Tan)
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