Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
Thursday, February 10, 2005

Troubleshooting The Messenger

I was recently sent to a store on Diversey to replace a bad flatscreen monitor. We didn't schedule the job so the owner had not informed his staff that somebody would be waltzing in to remove expensive equipment from the premesis. Somebody wearing a grinning skull axe murderer "listen to WZON in Bangor, Maine" t-shirt. Fortunately some namechecks got me through. The fact that I was replacing what I took with newer, fresher editions of the same probably helped.

The old monitor got crazy with rainbow distorion and you couldn't read the license plates on the vehicles in the drive-thru. Nor could you make out the difference between Virgina Slims and Misty cigarettes in the mouths of mole-faced, neckscarf-wearing, dead-eyed women in light purple spandex leggings and fake leopardskin vests. Who want extra croutons. This simply would not do. The solution?

"Tell Steve to get us another monitor. Have him deliver and install it."

It was embarrassing when the new equipment failed to work at all. My new monitor just blinked "no signal." So I took them both out of the store. The manager was nervous. I told him the owner couldn't call to okay it right now because he had a family emergency. Which was true! So out I went, leaving him with an unsightly hole in the wall next to his french fry warming tray.

I spent a week yelling at my vendors and manufacturers. The model I needed was out of production and out of stock. Finally today I received the equivalent, plugged it in here at the office, and got "No Signal." Fuck. A coworker strolled up and tapped the INPUT button on the side and bingo, a picture. I realized that I had made a horribly embarrassing rookie mistake when I'd been at the store the week before.

So I prompty emailed this information to everybody in the company. I like working in the office, you see. To me, this email is the equivalent of breaking plates. (Honey, will you do the dishes? Sure hon! Crash shatter clang bam boom! He is never asked again.) This will let me work indoors and keep me out of the field. This also ensures that everybody shares their idiot moments with me directly instead of whispering and giggling behind my back.

I go one step further. I decide to test the rainbow spasm monitor that started this whole retarded fiasco. The original was diagnosed by no less than the president of the company. He's also the founder and owner. And of course it works fine here at the office. The monitors never were the problem. It's likely a cable.

How much more pathetic will this become?
3:11 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


February 10, 2005 4:49 PM, Blogger Stace said...

I HATE BEING OUT SMARTED!!!!!!!! stupid technology

February 10, 2005 6:23 PM, Blogger Wyatt Junker said...

I suppose whorin' tech beats the roofing-on-meth industry. Especially when its 110 degrees dealing with hot pitch and a Porter Cable nail gun. But that was another life for me, when I was a part-time serial killer.

February 10, 2005 10:03 PM, Blogger Bookfraud said...

You got cajones. I would have gone to a little hole and whimpered like the four-eyed bitch I have become.

February 11, 2005 8:24 AM, Blogger daniel said...

"light purple spandex leggings and fake leopardskin vests."

At least you got to see some mumblers!

October 02, 2005 9:09 PM, Blogger jon said...

I am trying to find steel roofing people and found your blog while searching. I totally agree with that...


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