There's a storm in my teacup!

Well, in my dollar store mug.

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Wrong answer.
Phone call. Cliff calls for me to answer. I get out of bed to do so. Mum's on the other end.

"Have you got work..."
"No, what's wrong?"
"Get yourself ready. I'm picking you up."
"You're to come over here and help us with someone's computer."

I think my uncle believes I am Computer Jesus - able to heal damaged circuitry and save corrupted files. I think I need more sleep and wanted a shave today. Alas, I'm getting myself ready now and I also fear I'll be stuck round their place all day, also having to show Terry about that interior design program which I've not shown an interest in at all so far.

The biggest problem with my uncle is he doesn't believe in the word can't - so if a part of their computer has fried, I can't can't fix it, I envisage. The second largest problem is my uncle likes to get away with things as cheaply as possibly. I can't imagine someone from my shop would go round to someone's house without offering a quote first. Hmm, that's an idea. When I get there, claim it's broken, get them to take it into the workplace, and they can let someone more professional work on it.

This could be a massive waste of a day of rest.

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ugh, tell me about it.

I have to go repair a grandparents computer today, because I too am COMPUTER JESUS.

I suggest taking the RAM out of the machine, then tell them the machine doesn't work due to the lack of some doohicky, and tell them you can pick that piece up for £20.

Get the moolah, then install it back in, et voila.

As malevolent as that is, I'll have to give it a go some time. I'm fed up of* people like that.

* Read 'extremely fucked of with'

The alternate is they take their computer to someone who'll charge more, and do less.

When you get there, look at it with an expression of impending doom, then run screaming from the room, hollering that "This computer is the physical resting place of Pazuza!"

That should do the trick.

Incidentally, do you fancy having a look at my CD writer... heheh....

The RAM's broken on the CD Writer. It'll cost £20 to fix it.

Or something like that.

Heh. Panic tactics are an excellent idea.

"When's the last time you had someone check the integrity of your BIOS module? ...WHAT?! You've never had it checked and you don't give me any warning?!?"

Run off, return wearing rubber gloves and goggles. Ask them if they have any newspaper they can lay down. Etcetera.

The thing is (and I actually used a term like that before reading it here) -- I am Computer Jesus. My dad will be having some problem which I never get to see, because as soon as I go through the steps myself, the error message will go away forever.

Next time I'm in the neighborhood, I'll be sure to Lay On Hands for you.

Not Computer Jesus, but...

...apparently some sort of computer minister.

Today, my mother called me and asked if I could e-mail an .exe file for an anti-virus program.

When I told them that the file was over 30 some megs, they seemed puzzled as to why I couldn't send it.

"Um, because there's no way my e-mail could support it...and even if it could, there's no way you could receive it."

"Well, how much space does Yahoo mail have?"

"Oh, I think 3MB..."

"So I guess that wouldn't work then..."

"No, Mom, it wouldn't."

If you must go on these trips, get a laptop. At least then you can Champman away the boredom. :)

Dear me, a laptop? Aren't those for the middle-class people?

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