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Dear Mr. Waygate,
I thought you would
like to hear from a grateful customer how your
Platinum Premium Service & Support
Policy came to my aid.
I noticed recently that my
Waygate Pentium was running as slow as a snail
walking backwards. I had become such
a joke among the 486ers that I began
to shun them.
My computer would be classified as new if it weren’t a computer. I had
paid
twenty-three hundred bucks for it in May. I see now that it isn’t
even listed in
Waygate’s advertisements.
Your cheapest computer is a
lot faster and more powerful than mine and
only twelve hundred dollars. I see
you’re throwing in a printer… that
really hurts. The speed of advancing
technology is frightening. What you
invent today has to be marketed within the
month. Soon you may have to
date them like milk cartons. I finally figured out that
the right time to
buy a computer is in the future.
The New York Times is spreading a vicious rumor that you are thinking
about giving
them away and giving AOL a run for their money. I don’t believe that for a
moment.
Luckily, knowing nothing is perfect, I paid
extra for your Platinum
Premium Service & Support Policy. I wanted to be guaranteed
the very best
support. Seeing “Old Bess” had started to drag, I immediately took
advantage of my Platinum Premium Service & Support Policy in order that
she might
regain her youth. My only concern was how long it would take
your repairman to come
to my home.
Charley, a technician in North Dakota
answered my phone call and I
explained the problem.
“Bill, you have a virus that has destroyed a part of your conventional
memory.” I quickly denied his accusation, telling him I had always used
protection.
Norton’s Anti-Virus was constantly on guard. He kept insisting
it was a
virus.
I felt like a nice girl being accused of being
the East Coast distributor
of a venereal disease. He spent the first hour giving me
tons of
instructions and having me push every combination of keys on the
keyboard.
Charley was about as patient and as persistent as you can get. He
finally
gave up on the idea of a virus.
“Charley,
don’t waste your time, just send out the repairman. I got the
Platinum Premium
Service & Support Policy,” I said. There was a long pause.
Finally, I again heard
the voice from North Dakota.
“Bill, do you have a
Philips-head screwdriver, tweezers and a needle-nose
handy? We are going to have to
go in.”
I thought only surgeons used that language to
one another. What in hell
does he mean “we”?
“I
want you to take the case off the tower, go in, and move some parts
around.”
“Charley, I get nervous when I wind my
watch.”
“Don’t worry about it, Bill.”
I thought, “a six-month-old $2,300 computer is going to have its
guts
switched around by a guy who puts his finger in his ear when he tries to
pick his nose?”
Taking the cover off the tower was not
tough. That’s what I would like to
say, but for me it was tough. The second and
third hour was spent taking
“Old Bess” apart.
“Case
off.”
“Do you see the battery in the
corner?”
“I see nothing that looks like a battery,” I
said.
“That round disk in the corner.”
Long pause. Finally, I respond, “Is it about the size of a
nickel?”
“Yea. Do you see that set of…? (God knows
what he said.) I want you to
move the jumper off the second of the third set of…”
(?) About three
inches from the nickel.”
“What’s
a jumper?”
“That’s what’s connecting them,” Charley
responded.
Long pause. “Charley, I think I see those
things.” There was a whole bunch
of little things that were about three thousandths
of an inch wide in sets
of three and four. Some of them were connected to each other
by these
little, tiny things he called jumpers. By now I have my trusty
magnifying
glass in hand and my arthritic spine is killing me. I go nose to nose
with
the jumpers.
“Bill, I want you to take the
jumper off of S3 and S4 and put it on S2 and
S3.”
“What do you mean S3 and S4 and S2 and S3? What the hell do you mean? There’s about a
hundred of them.”
“Each one has a number on
it.”
“You’re kidding,” I insisted. Sure enough, I
peruse them with the glass
and they are numbered. Talk about a prayer on a head of a
pin. I’m talking
about parts that I can only see with a magnifying glass. I am in
the
heartland of the microprocessor. Now the impossible starts. I have to pull
a jumper off and attach it to S2 and S3. To really appreciate my task you
have to
see a jumper. Look at this one. (.) Using the needle-nose to get a
hold of a jumper
is like trying to pick up a grain of sand with the bucket
of a steam shovel. I
struggle and struggle. My right thumb, damaged in an
accident, is near
useless.
I keep thinking, if I ever do get this damn
thing off, I’m sure as hell
going to drop it into that maze of the microscopic, and
how would I ever
be able to face Charley? I soon realize moving a jumper requires
the hand
of a female violinist with the nerves of a person who has been dead a
week.
I reach into the very depths of my faith and beg
God for a steady hand.
The jumper is soon submerged in a drop of sweat from my nose.
It takes
forever and forever, but I do it. After accomplishing my mission, I
reconnect all the plugs into the back. During this whole operation the
phone line
has been open. It has taken so long that Charley has had his
Platinum Premium
Service & Support Policy lunch. I am exhausted. My
suspenders are soaked with sweat
and my back is killing me.
“Hey, Charley, what did you
have for lunch? Sounds pretty good. I’m
starving. Okay, Charley, switch on. We
booted it up for about thirty
seconds to a minute.
“Okay, Bill, shut it down. I want you to strip it down again and put the
jumper in
its original position.”
In the pause that followed you
could have built a pyramid and gotten a
good start on a second. Finally, Charley
spoke up. He is a real cool guy.
“Bill, I’ve got
plenty of time. Just be careful to put the jumper back
exactly where you had it. You
don’t want to blow the motherboard.”
“Charley, are
you sure you have plenty of time?”
“Bill, I’m with
you until the job is done. You have the Platinum Premium
Service & Support Policy.
No problem.”
“I had a strange feeling that Charley had
a big grin on his face.
“That’s great, Charley.
Listen Charley. Moving those jumpers took a lot out of
me. Besides that, I think I
was lucky as hell. I’m not as nimble as I used
to be. You will have to bear with
me. I’m on in years; just hit 92,” I
lied. “I’m missing a thumb on my right hand.
The other problem is I have
to hold my right hand with my left to stop it from
shaking. Stay next to
that phone, Charley. I’ll be needing your
support.”
I then went into my kitchen and had my
Platinum Premium Service & Support
Policy lunch. There was no need to hurry; Charley
had plenty of time. I
started the meal off with a Manhattan followed by a
well-cooked
cheeseburger. I always noticed that after a second Manhattan there was
no
need for me to hold my right hand with my left. I almost forgot that
Charley
was on the phone. After a leisurely lunch and a glance at the
newspaper I picked up
the phone again.
“Hey, Charley. I had a delicious
lunch and now I’m going to get hot on
that jumper.” I went back to “Old Bess” and
replaced the jumper without
hearing an explosion. I guess I didn’t blow the
motherboard, whatever the
hell that means.
“Charley, the jumper is back in its original position.”
“Bill, push the button.”
“Old Bess” came flashing on
at top speed.
May I suggest, Mr. Waygate that you
include with your Platinum Premium
Service & Support Policy one packet
containing:
1-Philips-head screwdriver
1-Tweezers
1-Needle-nose pliers
1-Magnifying
glass
2-Manhattans, very dry.
Yours
truly,
Bill Monks
