This story is in the first book created from this website, Mentally Incontinent. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do, please consider picking up the book. It's chock full of stuff just like this.

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

V. Making The Swap

Mike was hyperventilating. Cindy was laughing so hard, she began coughing up the contents of her emphysema-riddled lungs and had to excuse herself to the restroom. Brian the cook sat there, taking a final drag off of his cigarette. He shrugged his shoulders, ground the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray, and exclaimed, “Man… all that, and you didn’t even get to fuc

Once again, I read through the paragraph. Once again, I reached the final, incomplete word and jiggled my mouse, futilely hoping for some sort of action. Sadly, once again, I received nothing whatsoever in response. The bile began to rise in my throat as I sat in contemplative silence and stared at that sad, unfinished word as it rested there, begging for the final letter before the paragraph could finally move on. I tapped a few keys, I pushed the power button. I unplugged and reinserted the USB cables for my connected devices. Nothing at all revived – or even affected – the immobile machine. A single tear fell from the corner of my left eye and streamed down my flushed cheek as I shook the mouse one last time, somehow begging for a miracle. There was no movement of the pointer. There wasn’t even a blinking cursor. There was just a frozen machine containing an incomplete work which had not been saved since it began almost six thousand words previously.

I slowly rose from my chair and left my office. I took my time descending the stairs and walking to the garage, sparing a moment to grab the brilliant orange compact disc upon which was written “Biohazard – State of the World Address” and a thick black Sharpie marker. I walked into the garage, placed the disc into the player, and made my way to a gigantic canvas bag suspended from a support beam. I removed the Sharpie from my pocket and wrote upon the canvas bag a single word in huge capital letters. Once finished, I immediately dropped the marker, reared back with my right hand, and began to beat the absolute hell out of Dell.

Thirty minutes later, my fists reddened and my favorite Rangers “thinking jersey” soaked with my sweat, I headed back upstairs, grabbed the phone and plopped into my chair. It didn’t matter that I had just spent half an hour expending vast amounts of energy and venting my scathing hatred, the second my eyes met the frozen screen of my laptop, every ounce of fury that had once been within me swelled and reemerged tenfold.

“Welcome to Dell,” the chipper and young technical support person said. “This is –“

My voice was booming as I yelled into the phone, “Are you Michael Dell?!?”

The young man on the other end of the phone stammered a moment, then replied, “Why, no sir, I’m not…”

“Get me Michael Dell,” I insisted. “Get me Michael Dell right this moment.”

“Sir, um… You know, I don’t know how I would go about doing that.”

“Give me someone who does, then.”

The young man searched deep within himself, summoning the courage to bring his mind to the realization that on the other end of the phone, he was dealing with a madman. “Sir, um.. perhaps you should tell me what issue you are having fir-“

“NO!” I screamed. “There will be NO telling of issues. There will only be the fetching of Michael Dell. I want that man on the phone RIGHT NOW.”

“Uh… right,” he replied. “Just one moment, sir.” He placed me on hold where I was greeted by a cross-dressing early eighties icon begging me to tell him if I really wanted to hurt him. I can assure you, had he been standing anywhere within my immediate proximity at that moment, I would have ripped his leg off and beat him to death with it, screaming “Does THIS make me a Karma Chameleon, Georgie?” Fortunately, I didn’t have to endure too much of this whiny bastard’s melancholy before I was reunited with the boy who would be helpful, if only I’d let him.

“Sir?” The young man said.

“Is this the same guy I was just talking to?” I asked.

”Uh… Yes sir, it is…” he replied.

“Have you somehow transformed yourself into Michael Dell?” I asked.

“No, sir, I haven’t – but if you would –“

I growled. I literally growled like a tiger into the phone. Upon reflection, it probably sounded quite stupid – but that’s how angry I had become. I was driven to making animal sounds.

“Sir… Please,” he begged. “Just – just tell me what your issue is. I’m sure we can work through this.”

I took a deep breath and decided to give him a chance to rectify my problem. “Fine. My laptop has just frozen up.”

“Um, okay, sir. Really quickly, before we get to that, can I please have your Service Tag number?”

“Don’t you mean my Express Service code?” I asked.

“Umm… Oh, yes. You’re right. May I please have that number sir?”

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Daniel, sir. What is yours?”

“It’s Joe. Daniel, you aren’t an idiot, are you?”

He thought on this for a moment. “No sir, I don’t believe so…”

“Okay,” I said, “I’m just checking. The last person who confused a Service Tag with an Express Service number turned out to be an idiot. I just want to make sure that, before we go any farther, I’m dealing with someone of reasonable intelligence and not, as you have assured me you aren’t, an idiot.”

He giggled a little.

I didn’t.

“Daniel.”

“Yes, sir?”

”I’m not joking here. I have reached the absolute end of my patience. If you are going to turn this entire ordeal into a joke…”

“Oh, no sir. I am sorry, sir. It’s just that…”

“What, Daniel?”

“Well, just the way you said that… It was pretty funny.”

“Funny, Daniel?”

“Well, yeah. A little.”

“Funny… Funny how, Daniel? Like a clown?”

“Oh… Um… Sure, a little.”

“Ah. So am I a clown, Daniel? A clown, here on the phone to amuse you?”

“Umm… no sir. I don’t think so, sir…”

I paused for a moment, hoping to strike FEAR into the heart of this poor boy. My Joe Pesci was a little off, but it served for this purpose. “Okay, Daniel. My Express Service number is [my Express Service number, which by now I knew by heart].”

A few moments passed, and Daniel reviewed whatever it was that he needed to review before he made the biggest mistake he could have possibly made. “Okay, sir, you say that your laptop is frozen. Is the power cord plugged in?”

“OH, you stupid son of a… Of COURSE the fuc… The stupid power cord is plugged in! What the HELL do you think I am, an idiot?”

“OH, no, sir, of course not!”

“We just agreed, Daniel, that you don’t think I am a clown. Were you lying to me, Daniel? Do you actually think that I am a clown?”

“No sir, not at all sir!”

“Okay, fine. Good. This will be very simple then. Daniel, since the day that I got this laptop – NO. Since the day I ORDERED it, I have had nothing but trouble with it. I got it 2 months late and have been through FIVE motherboards. I am sick and tired of this nonsense. I want to return this laptop, and I want to do that right this moment.”

It took him a moment to respond. When he did, it was NOT the answer I wanted to hear. “Sir, I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, Daniel,” I insisted. “It’s easy. Just return the laptop.”

“No, sir, I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“No I can’t.”

“Yes you – Oh, screw this. Get Michael Dell on this phone right this second.”

“Sir, hold on just a second.” And with a click, Daniel whisked me away to the world of hold where I waited for about ten minutes, each and every second of which brought about a redoubling of my scorn and hatred for this worthless and horrible company. Once it ended, I was greeted by a very stern and upright female voice, one which was obviously intent on getting this issue solved no matter what.

“Hello, sir, this is Dagney Simmons, the manager of this floor. I have reviewed this call and understand that you need assistance that our technical support cannot offer. What can I do to help you?”

“I need Michael Dell, Dagney,” I replied. “Are you Michael Dell?”

“Um, no sir, I’m not.”

”Then go get Michael Dell, Dagney.”

”Sir, I’m certain that, if you’ll just tell me what your issue is, we can –“

“My issue, Dags, is that you are not Michael Dell, and I really need him on the phone right now.”

“My name is Dagney,” she coughed, “And I’m sorry, but Mr. Dell isn’t really available at this time. However, I’d be more than happy to handle this situation for you. Now, please tell me what I can do to help you.”

I took a deep breath, pausing a moment to prepare myself mentally and physically. Slowly, I released the air from my lungs, then inhaled deeply and launched into a tirade.

”Dags, this entire experience has been one of complete frustration for me. To begin with, I ordered my laptop in April. It didn’t arrive until late May. Once I did get it, I experienced nothing but lockups and freezes, so your brilliant technical support department suggested that a new motherboard would fix things RIGHT up – and they did, until the video card burned out!”

“Yes, sir, I understand –“

“Do you? Do you really, Dags?”

“It’s Dagney, and yes, I do – I just want to help you in this situat-“

“Dags, I’m not finished yet. Can I finish?”

“Dagney.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Dagney, and yes, please continue.”

I huffed a little as I continued. “Well anyway, Dags, -“ She returned my huff and began to correct me once again, but I wasn’t about to let her. “Dags, this stupid machine went from freezing up and going black to burning hotter than the fires of Hell. It seared my wrists to a crisp golden brown because the exhaust fan on the stupid thing went out. When the tech arrived with the fourth motherboard to be installed in it, the damn thing was cracked right down the middle, so he had to order a fifth. Now Dags-“

“It’s Dagney,” she said sternly.

“Right. Dags, after five motherboards, one would assume that ANY laptop would be pretty much good go to. This one, however, has yet another issue – it hates me. It really, truly hates me – so much so that when it ran out of ideas to screw me over, it just went back to the first one, freezing up. Now Dags, -“

“Please, sir. My name is Dagney.”

“Whatever,” I said dismissively. “I cannot work with this laptop. It is clear that the differences between Mr. Laptop and I extend far past the superficial level and have transcended into pure, unadulterated hatred for one another. I’m afraid I’m going to need to return this hunk of garbage to you.”

“Sir, please – allow me to help you troubleshoot this issue. I’m sure that we can handle this to your satisfaction.”

“NO! We are WAY past that point, Dags! I’ve got to get rid of this stupid, stupid thing and get a new laptop. That’s the bottom line. That’s all there is to it. That’s what’s going to happen. Got me, Dags?”

“My name, Mr. Peacock, is Dagney,” she replied. “Now, I don’t understand the amount of hostility present –“

”Don’t understand it?” I asked. “I just EXPLAINED it to you. How the hell can you not understand it?”

She got down to business. “Sir – I understand frustration. I understand wanting what’s wrong put right. However, hostility is something I do NOT understand. Now, I haven’t been present for each of your mishaps – I haven’t even been involved. How does that justify your hostility?”

“WELL… um… You see, it’s… FIVE motherboards, Dags! FIVE!”

“Ok, look – if you want me to help you, you will call me by my proper name, which is Dagney. Do you understand?”

“Ok, fair enough, Dagney. But –“

“No. No buts. Listen to me for a moment.”

A few seconds passed. “Well?”

“Sir, I know that you have had a hard time with your laptop, and I DO appreciate that, but –“

“No, Dagney,” I said, cutting her off, “I don’t think you DO –“

“Mr. Peacock, PLEASE,” She returned, cutting me off in kind. “If I may be allowed to continue?”

“By all means.”

“Alright. Now, by reviewing your cases, I see that neither Daniel nor myself have been involved with you previously, is that correct sir?”

I thought for a moment, then replied, “Sure, I guess that’s correct.”

“Alright. That being the case, you have absolutely no reason to treat either of us the way you have. Your anger at the situation is deserved and understandable, but sir, there is no need to take it out on the people who are trying to help you.”

It hit home immediately. I had become “that” caller.

“Crap. Man, I am sorry, Dagney,” I replied. “I’m just… You have no idea how hard this has been…”

“I understand, Mr. Peacock. Now, let’s work together and get this resolved.”

We chatted amiably for a moment, whereupon I explained my desire to return the laptop and get a full refund for the price I paid.

“Okay, here’s the situation. I cannot return your laptop – it’s been longer than 90 days, and it simply isn’t possible. But –“

”What do you MEAN, not possible! That’s not fair! It’s quite obvious that this laptop is bad, isn’t it? Why can’t you guys take back this broken laptop?”

“Sir, hold on just one moment, and hear me out.”

I took a deep breath. “Alright, fine. I am sorry. Please, do continue.”

“What I will do to make this right is exchange your laptop for an entirely new one.”

“But –“

“And,” she said, sniping my efforts at rebuttal, “I am prepared to upgrade it at no additional cost to you.”

It’s amazing the effect the word “upgrade” has on a technophile, as it immediately lulled me into a calm I had not experienced since I was a child. I was completely amicable to each and every one of her suggestions for restitution, including the upgrade on the processor and a hard drive twice the size of my current one. She even promised overnight delivery, a promise that was made good. A few dozen “Thank you’s” and “I’m sorry for being such a jerk’s” later, Dagney ended her session with me and, I’d imagine, headed into her office where hung a giant canvas bag, wrote the world “Joe” across the front of it, and laid into it like an angry badger would to a N’Sync record.