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Once upon a time, a lady brought her computer into the shop.
“It’s broke and I don’t even like computers,” began the lady’s account of her quandary. “It doesn’t do anything anymore. I bumped it lightly while I was vacuuming yesterday and it fell over and the power cord came out, and ever since it just won’t turn back on,” she continued in a deep voice and bad breath. “It actually belongs to my sister. She let me borrow it, you know, for the kids to use for school. She say’s its new and that it can’t be broken, so I need you to figure out what’s wrong with it.” *I attempted to take a step back to evade the reach of her breath, but she countered with a step of her own. “She even owns her own business and her technician guy said he didn’t think it could be broken either.”
My “Lame-Story” alarms were beginning to sound a medium level warning.
“OK, we’ll run some diagnostics and let you know what we discover.” I replied, reluctantly having to open my mouth.
“Thanks. I really don’t even like computers. I use one for work, because I have to, but I honestly hate the things. I never want to own one of my own. I just wish that my kids didn’t need one for school.”
Then she left and we were happy.
Later that day, the diagnostics were done and the results were clear. Her motherboard was dead. She had completely fried it. When we called her with the news, she was less than believing.
“That’s a new motherboard. There’s no way it can be bad. I’m going to pick it up and let my sisters technician guy look at it.” She replied. She was intent on remaining ignorant.
“That’s fine. You'll just need to pay a small evaluation charge and we’ll have your computer here waiting for you.”
"Alright."
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5 months later…
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A strangely familiar lady walked through the door. When she spoke, the smell of her breath was instantly recognizable.
“I’m here to pick up my computer. It’s been here for a while now. I just haven’t gotten around to picking it up.”
So I started looking for her computer. Then, after a while of searching, discovered from our records that we had junked her computer a few weeks ago, after trying to call and tell her that she needed to pick up her computer soon. It’s not uncommon for someone to never return to retrieve a machine we diagnosed as dead. They like to skip out on the evaluation fee and leave us with a useless machine that takes up space. So, after four months or so if we still cannot get in contact with them, we get rid of their machines.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad.” It became apparent rather quickly that she was actually quite fond of the computer that she had abandoned for five months. “Why would you guys throw away someone’s computer? Why didn’t anyone tell me? What am I supposed to do now?” I told her that we did indeed try to call her and that anything left in the shop for over sixty days technically may become property of the shop and that I didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. “Well, it doesn’t say that you’ll throw it away anywhere!” She pointed out determinedly. I then showed her the work order she signed and the line that states that equipment left here over sixty days may become our property. She then decided that tears and mumbling were in order, so I can’t really tell you what she said next, because I have only theories. In the end, she reassured me that she was very disappointed and that she would be calling the owner. I felt very reassured, at least.
Perhaps I should stop smiling when these things happen. Anyway, she hasn’t called back yet. I think it might take her a few months to get around to it.
Hopefully this lady took away a few life lessons that will help her out in the future. First, don’t hit your computer with a vacuum. They don’t like that. Second, read the small print when you sign something. It could be useful information. Third, don’t leave something you need in a repair shop for five months and expect it to still be there when you get around to picking it up. Honestly, even if we hadn’t tried to call her, what was she expecting? And finally, if someone is constantly taking steps away from you when you talk, it’s probably because you have bad breath. Try the new Listerine 12 hour stuff. It’s great.
There he goes, striking fear into the hearts of potential do-badders everywhere.
May Bruce Lee come down and one-inch punch me until I die if the Mullet isn’t the best way to tell the world in a tremendously boisterous and obnoxious way that you are a trashy human being. What human defect is it that leads some people to actually CHOOSE to have one? Is it an imbalance in chemical levels inside the brain? Perhaps it’s the effect of too much cheap beer and an over indulgence in eighties pornography. We many never know the cause, but we sure as helllll know the effect. That’s right. Complete, absolute stupidity! By Thor’s Hammer I swear I have never met an intelligent human being that sported a Mullet. It’s like trying to find a dog that actually talks, or a redneck that knows how to use a computer.
Unfortunately for me, these last few weeks have been ffffiiillllllleddd to the brim with Mullets! It has come to the point where I must either scorn these morons on my blog, or jump in front of a train.
The first experience was an observational one for the most part. It was in the parking lot of a plumbing supply store where I had been called out on a service call for work. Being drawn to stupid people like strong magnets, before I could get out of my car, my head turned and I found myself looking at an old, rusted Ford Taurus. I looked closer and saw that there was a man leaning against the side of the car that had two young children secured in baby seats in the back. Then I saw his Mullet. Long down past his shoulders and worn with more pride than a dozen NBA superstars could ever dream of having. “I wonder what stupid thing he’s going to do,” I thought. Not one minute after that thought, he looked down at the children inside, both of which were eating some sort of messy treat. Half a second later, he lifted and rolled his head much like a wild animal. Then he strutted to the other side of the car, opened the door and started yelling at the children because they had smeared the messy treat all over the inside of the window. “Why did you…. Why in the… What gives…. What in the hell gives you the ... right to get my windows dirty?” “Why did you think it would be okay to do that?” At that point, I had to do something, so I got out of my car and shut the door loudly. This startled the man, who turned around to look at me. We made eye contact, and then he stopped yelling and went back to the other side of the car and resumed leaning.
The whole experience oozed stupidity. First of all, what kind of a moron gives a small child a messy treat inside of a car then gets mad when that treat ends up all over the windows? Second, what kind of a moron cares whether or not their P.O.S Taurus gets dirty? Third, what kind of feces consuming lowlife has such a low level of self-esteem that they must prove to themselves that they are indeed stronger than a little child? Yes, you in the back! That’s right! A STUPID moron! However, an even better answer would have been “A STUPID MORON WITH A MULLET!”
Then there were the four mullets I saw walking down Washington Blvd on my way to work a few days ago. One walked in a daze, one walked in unusually long strides, one didn’t walk at all, and one walked on all fours (until he found something on the ground and picked it up…). I don’t know why they bothered me the way they did. Perhaps each mullet was equipped with an Intelligence -7 spell whose diameter expanded into the lane I was in, or maybe it was my inner self not agreeing that mullet-sporters should be allowed to roam free. Who knows…
Then as if I hadn’t been plagued with enough mullets, we recently had an irate Polar-Bearish man with a curly white mullet in the shop. This man truly re-defined my understanding of how ignorant and stupid a human can be. Allow me to explain. Mr. S (S for stupid) came into the shop complaining that the sound on his laptop had never worked since he bought it from Toshiba. My co-worker told him we would diagnose the problem and attempt a fix. That’s exactly what we did. We re-installed his drivers, re-installed XP on another hard drive, installed many patches and tried every trick we could think of. In the end, the sound still didn’t work. At that point, deductive reasoning told us that something was wrong with the sound card or his motherboard. When he came back, my co-worker gave him the news. He blew up! “What do ya mean it doesn’t work?” “Yer telling me I don’t have any sound at all!?” Let us remember that his sound didn’t work when he brought it in. He then started making false claims. “It worked sometimes when I brought it in. I could hook up mah speakers and it would work just fine.” “[G] you guys suck! You [F]ing broke it! I never shoulda brought it here to begin with.” He yelled and screamed at us for about five minutes before he broke out into a nervous pace around the shop. He threatened to call the cops, take out a full page add in the paper about us, and many other things that I didn’t understand (he started to froth and babble a bit). I tried to explain to him what we did and the reasons that the sound still didn’t work, but he wouldn’t listen to anything I said. After about twenty minutes of hopelessly trying to help him understand, I gave up. He told me that he wanted it fixed “NOW.” I didn’t say a thing. Then he stormed out of the shop much the same way I imagine a Polar Bear would. Well, to our luck, we ended up solving the sound problem. We had to use a “Vista only” patch over the Windows XP sound drivers to get it to work. What are the odds? He picked it up the next day and we haven’t seen him since. Thank George Lucas!
It was like the mullet was blocking all intelligent thought coming in and out of his head! He refused to listen to reason! He was incapable of using deductive reasoning. He didn’t understand a single thing I told him. He was insulting, ignorant, irate, and idiotic! The stupidity was too much to bear!
As a result of that last experience, I had to treat my wounds with the La Famosa combo plate and fried ice cream at El Matador. There must be a solution to the mullet problem in the world. What is it going to take? Perhaps we can come to some arrangement with the Goa’uld. They can take all the humans with mullets to use as hosts and in exchange we get their cool shield technology.
