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The Motherboard Chronicles 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6| 7

I. Setting A Standard
I believe I am quite safe in saying that even third grade students understand that seven to ten business days is very clearly NOT equivalent to two months. This assumption has lead me to another assumption: every single person working at Dell Computer Corporation has a sub-third-grade education. Either that, or they are truly gifted beings from another dimension who have harnessed the ability to distort all time and space, thus extending all measures of time to at least eight times longer than it appears to us mortals.

“Alrighty, Mr. Peacock,” I can clearly remember hearing the incredibly exasperated sales representative say, “Your order has been placed for a new Inspiron 8500, it should be arriving within seven to ten business days.”

“Hmm…,” I muttered aloud. “Is there any way I could pay extra and have it expedited? I really need it for work. You see, my current laptop is –“

“No sir,” the Dell dude sighed, cutting me off. “Seven to ten business days is as fast as we can get it out. It has to be built, tested, prepared and shipped.”

“Oh… okay, um… I guess that’s why I chose Dell in the first place, right? The commitment to a quality product and, you know, all of that…” I let loose a slight chuckle in an attempt to bring a little levity to the situation and end it on a good note. I received nothing in return. “So um… I guess I’ll have to wait for it, then. Wait - I have a question then. When would my warranty start on it?”

“Well,” he forced out with a huff, “You bought it today, so it starts today.”

“But I won’t have the machine for at least another week... That doesn’t make any sense. Don’t you guys pro-rate it or something?”

“Well, no sir,” the clerk audibly sneered. “Because there’s no reliable way to determine when your machine will be delivered to you.”

I pondered this for a moment. “Don’t I have to go online and register it or something?”

The clerk, without stopping to think for even a second, replied “Yes sir. But that’s not reliable. You could wait a few weeks to register it.”

I had already been on the phone for over an hour ordering this stupid thing. I really didn’t feel like arguing anymore. “Fine. But it will definitely be here in seven to ten days, right?”

“Oh, sure, absolutely,” he lied. “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“No, I guess that’s it,” I said passively. “Thank you very –“

“Okay, thank you for your order, and have a good day.”

“Okay, you have one as -” *click* “- well…”

About five days had gone by when I first attempted to check the status of my order with the handy dandy code the sales dude had given me. I hit www.dell.com, entered my information, and clicked ‘Submit’. After a few seconds, the rich and varied blues on the website sat in stark contrast to a string of text that had appeared, notifying that the system thought I was a big fat liar and no such order number existed.

Why, this simply cannot be right!

I called Dell to prove to myself that this was merely a lag in the system, or a miswritten number (which is far too common an occurrence, given that I suffer from a mild form of Dyscalculia, or “Dyslexia, but with numbers,” and as such, I tend to transpose numbers quite badly when I write them - which is why I use a keyboard for 99.44% of everything I do) - anything that would explain that my badly-needed laptop was actually on the assembly line and only a few days away from being nestled safely into a foam-padded box and shipped to my doorstep. Unfortunately, the Dell representative sadly confirmed the utter and complete lack of any order placed by me to them at any time ever.

“Well, can you track it by my phone number?” I pleaded in the hope that, since my name, mailing address and email didn’t work, it would be the magic key to locating this lost – yet paid for, according to American Express – order.

“Sir, I already have,” she replied quite patiently. “I assure you, your order does not exist in our system.”

“But ma’am, the charge has gone through. I am looking at my statement online right now, and American Express shows a charge from Dell for the exact amount that a new Inspiron 8500 would cost. Surely there is some record of that money flowing into your company somewhere.”

“Umm…” she said, tapping a few keys, “Here, why don’t you give me the transaction reference from your credit card statement?” And so I did. “Wow…” She said after entering it in.

“Uh oh… that doesn’t sound like a good ‘wow’,” I replied, all hope of receiving the laptop in a timely manner slowly oozing out of me through my feet and soaking into the carpeting.

“Um… It’s not… hold on just a moment, please,” and she placed me on hold, where Richard Marx began serenading me about some moronic happening in Hazzard County. Just as he was reaching the part about the fat dude murdering the young girl, the sales operator appeared once more. “Um… Mr. Peacock, um… your laptop was shipped out yesterday –“

”It was?!?” I responded in shock. “Wow, that’s great!”

“Umm, sir? Umm… It wasn’t sent to, um… to you.”

It took a second for what she had said to register. Once it did, a throbbing began in my head and everything went bright white.

“Umm… Okay... Well, then, who was it sent to?”

“It seems, sir, that it went out to a Mr. Standard? Mister J. Standard?”

“Wait – who? Who the hell is J. Standard?”

“Sir, I’m so very sorry for this mix-up –“

“Mix-up? This is a mix-up? No, dear, putting two tablespoons of salt in a recipe that calls for sugar is a mix-up. This… Is truly something altogether different.”

“Sir, I don’t know how this happened –“

“Yah, me either, since ‘Standard’ neither looks nor sounds anything at all like ‘Peacock’.”

“Well, rest assured, sir, we will do everything we can to get your laptop into your hands as soon as possible –“

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, we need to contact Mr. Standard and have him send the machine back, and then we can send it out to you.”

“Um, no,” I replied plainly. “Whether or not you recover the laptop from Mr. Standard is not my concern. I shouldn’t have to wait for – Wait, no. I don’t WANT that laptop after he’s put his paws and who knows what kind of files on it! I paid for a brand new laptop and that’s what I’d better receive!”

“Sir, um… I’m afraid that –“

“Don’t be afraid, be productive! Get a new laptop out to me posthaste!”

“I can’t… I can’t really do that, Mr. Peacock. I’m sorry, but –“

“No! No buts! I want my brand new, completely Standard-less laptop!”

The conversation ended shortly thereafter when the call was escalated to a highly-apologetic manager who assured me that this would be handled immediately and that a brand new Inspiron 8500 would be shipped to me “Posthaste, as [I] requested”. This, once again, begs us to question the general level of education of the Dell employee. Merriam-Webster defines posthaste as “speed in traveling; great haste,” and this is the definition I had always kept in mind when using that word. Dell, however, obviously interprets posthaste as “Take as long as you want, and be sure to avoid updating the customer of the status of the order at any time.”

It took two phone calls a week for 7 more weeks, each one being escalated to a manager, each one ending with “Yes, sir, we will get it to you immediately, thank you for calling Dell.” Finally, however, I got exactly what I demanded – a brand new, completely standardless laptop.

And thus came unto me the first motherboard.



This is part 1 of a 7-part epic miniseries that is neither epic nor mini. If you would like to read the other parts, they can be accessed from the menu at the top of the page.