By the Many Arms of Vishnu, What a Line

I’ve been trying to use my D-Link wireless card in my clunky old laptop since Sunday, and after hours of futility I used my fancy new cell phone to call tech support. I don’t need to tell you that most of these phone banks are in India these days, and being clever I was able to influence Ramesh to divulge certain facts that lead me to believe this one was no exception. The problem with this system is that their phone lines date to the Great War or usually long before it, and I had to – ahem – struggle to be heard. Imagine the scene if you will: I am on the phone in the dining room, staring at my computer screen, spelling my name at the top of my lungs into a dark, empty house, while the uncomprehending man on the end of the line wrings his hands and puts me on hold every few minutes for no reason. He wants to go over everything before we move on: my e-mail address, my phone number, and ESPECIALLY the spelling of my name. Finally we get to the good part, except there is no good part. He tells me to do all the things I already did before I called him – that is, before I spent my first 45 minutes as a cell phone owner – before telling me that the card is defective and I must take it back to the “point of purchase,” where I will give them the magic number and they will give me my money back. He gives me such a number, which is not going to mean diddly to the pizza-faced cashier at the Richmond Freeway Target, and thanks me for calling. I consider telling him I am a lawyer and that he is going to jail for malicious mischief. Then I hang up.