As usual, the beginning of this post has little to do with the end except that by writing in this way, I may have contributed to the outcome at the end. Confused? Mwahahaha! That means I have succeeded (wiping tears of evil joy from eyes).
Sorry, if this seems to you to be just mad ramblings of a lunatic. I spent most of the day talking to several different individuals from Technical Assistance unit of my internet provider which should be sufficient to explain my current state of mind. The problem was that my internet provider was not providing. My computer (an Apple iMac) was very helpfully telling me on the screen that there was nothing wrong with its beautifully designed circuits and that the blame lay entirely with the internet provider. Just to be sure, I tested out my office’s laptop and it too could not access the internet.
So I dutifully called the number that was neatly printed on all my internet bills. It is a three digit number that only works with landlines. So I called them up and waited for the appropriate moments in the long drawn recorded message to select my options. Finally, I reached a living person at the other end. I told her that I wanted to report that my service was not working. She asked for my telephone number, my contact details, my account number and the date that I paid my last bill. I answered all her questions patiently.
Then she asked me to go into my computer setup and look for certain information. I told her that is would be a problem as the house phone and the computer is in two different parts of the house. “Oh, she says. In that case, I can’t help you.”
So I told her that I could talk to her and access the computer if I called her on the hand phone but I pointed out that the three digit number does not work when dailing from a handphone. She gives me a different number to call. I ask why this number isn’t printed on the company’s stationery or found on their website. No answer. just a cheery, “Goodbye. Thank you for calling. Glad to have been of service.”
Okay, called the new number, went through all the lengthy preliminary foreplay and got a different operator. This time I got as far as telling her that I was not getting any service when we were cut off. I swore into the dialing tone.
On the third attempt, I got a guy at the other end. He was very polite but he tended to swallow his words and the line was crackly. Also his English was not fluent and was heavily accented. This lead to a conversation liberally interspersed with “What?”, “Pardon”, “Please repeat” and “Huh?” He tried to suggest that the problem was with my router. I humoured him by disconnecting the router and connecting the modem directly to the computer. Still no service. Ah, he concludes, it must be your computer setup. I am dubious since I tried three separate computers and laptops and none can access the internet.
He says, “Open the system preferences and you should see a file called terminal.app ”
I say, “I have opened the system preference but there is no file called terminal.app.”
He then says look for any file called “terminal”. I do and find one. He instructs me to type some code in. The file does not allow any editing of contents. “Oh, can’t be the right file then.”
Great. “Any other ideas.” He suggests trying a number of other files and dialogue boxes. I try, but what I see is not what he says should appear.
This goes on for what seems like hours. Finally, we both knew that we could not make it work and agreed to end the relationship and see other people. I will have to wait till next week to get a technician friend to come see what is wrong and the technical assistance executive will move on to the next victim customer.
And that is the long frightening story of why I am going to have limited internet access till next week and why I am writing this at Starbucks. And so, finally we reach the end. Not being able to access my photos for the post I had in mind, I wondered what I could do instead.
Fortunately, Evalinn came to the rescue cause she found this site that analyses your writing and suggests who you write like. So I put in some text from my blog into the analyser and perhaps not surprisingly considering the afternoon described above, it says I write like H.P. Lovecraft – master of horror.
Actually, I would love to write a good scary story so I wouldn’t mind if my writing really was like H.P. Lovecraft’s but that’s just wishful thinking. Who might your writing style be like?
Realm of the Lone Grey Squirrel 