I wearied of negotiating with a snarling teenager to use the scanner I bought a while ago, and that now lives in her lair.
'Ha', I said, and tossed my blonde hair attractively, looking askance with my violet-blue eyes, their long lashes fluttering in the warm breeze.
I drew on my silken robe and slipped my tiny feet into my crystal driving shoes, picking up the keys of the Bentley from the key-room next to the Georgian parlour with its original cornicing and shutters.
I roared up the North Circular, scattering scrawny chickens and spotty male teenage drivers in souped-up Escorts in my wake, heading for the Church of John Lewis, where the middle classes congregate and worship.
There, I traded a small rectangle of stiff plastic for a shiny new scanner in a huge box (so it looked as though I had bought something much, much bigger!!!), and roared back home to plug it in.
The servants were on their annual holiday in Broadstairs, but after reading the complex instructions I soon heard the exciting sound of technology grunting, and Saw the Light of bright function.
Alas, after placing Roberto Cassani's illustration on the flatbed, the Computer Said No, and I was forced to call the 5-pence-a-minute Hewlett Packard unhelpfulline.
It took 5 minutes to get through , and a faraway voice from a faraway place took a minute to say each sentence, costing me 45 pence just to say 'hello'.
While I was delighted to hear that the faraway person had a name, it took 35 seconds for them to tell me (two and a half pence), and after they had left me on hold for another five minutes because they didn't understand Mac computers (25 pence) I realised I was being taken for a ride, and hung up.
It's a jolly good job I am a millionaire, and also that I have so much spare time to visit the Church of John Lewis, not only to buy the faulty equipment, but also to take it back!
Why, if I had two jobs and an Offsprog to take care of, life might seem a tad difficult.
Excuse me, the butler is running my bubble-bath before he polishes my gold bars; after that, I'm off to Harrods in the Roller to buy a bag of crisps.
I'm typing my reply while George Clooney peels a grape for me to eat while sipping champagne ..... ok, the truth - we're about to eat fish pie for dinner!!
ReplyDeleteps - try saying 'porca madonna' - I believe it's Italian for 'son of a b***h'
I have distinctly (un-fond) memories of ringing BT when the internet conked out or did something I didn't understand. They were at least good enough to tell you you'd be on hold for 45 minutes though, and for a nominal fee, would reserve you a place in the queue then ring you back. This meant I could plan ahead and sit on the floor of my bedroom with a good book for nearly an hour...
ReplyDeleteI tried to buy a Hewlett Packard printer when I first bought my laptop, but had to take it back because I couldn't install it. Why? because the laptop had a a new type of processor and HP printers couldn't cope with it. I got an Epsom instead...
We have several HP printers here connected to Macs; but I do seem recall having to use the power of google to find and download mac drivers for them. They seem more reliable and have cheaper ink than Epsom.
ReplyDeleteMy mother in law is Italian but grew up in Brasil: in my house we always say "porcaria". Which I just used the wonder of google to look up, and it's Portugese and means just what I thought: piece of crap.
Should have said; there's a couple of HP scanner/printers here too, not just printers.
ReplyDelete