A Call To India

All day I have fought the urge to kill someone. It started this morning. I settled in at the computer, ready to go through the Persuasive Writing Workshop. A tornado threw a temper tantrum and leveled my apartment complex. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. It was the lawn mower the maintenance crew uses. It's the size of a Sherman tank, and about as subtle. If I lived in California, I would have stood in a fucking doorway. I can't believe they call themselves, "Manicuring the landscape." If that's manicuring a landscape, then ole' Smoky is electroconvulsive therapy.

So, anyway, I pushed on. Booted up the computer. Dial up. I gotta get some high-speed in my life one of these days soon. Fuck. Norton Internet Security rears its pastel head. I need to update my virus definitions. Since I access the workshops via the Internet, I thought I better get this handled.

It connects to Symantec. Starts comprising a list of what is available. I took a sip of coffee. Burned my fucking tongue. I hate that shit. Then I just swallowed it, so I am certain my esophagus has blisters. Felt like I swallowed lava. Then I get an error message from Symantec. Something about a corrupt file. I have to manually download the virus definitions--again. This is getting fucking old.

So I download the virus definitions. Then, as the software begins to install, "Your subscription has expired." I blew on my coffee a bit. Took a small sip. No pain this time. Maybe I burned off all the nerve endings. I got your exfoliate. Anyway,I downloaded the virus definitions again. Again it starts the installation. Again, "Your subscription has expired." I set down my coffee mug. I was thinking about throwing it.

I leaned back in the chair. Sighed and noticed that the tank was closer to my door. I went to the living room and turned on the idiot box. I needed some brain bullshit. E! never disappoints. They were running some expose on the hottest of the hot in young Hollywood, or some shit. Paris Hilton. A rich heiress who is famous for getting banged and filming it. That's daddy's girl. Somehow skank doesn't quite capture it. I turned off the TV and headed back to the computer.

I opened the NIS program. Click on "Help and Support." It says I have 352 days before I need to renew my subscription. I go to Symantec's website looking for the "Contact Us" button. Byzantine. Seriously, getting to a place where you can actually contact these people is nothing sort of miraculous. Once you get there, you have to fill out some form telling them what your problem is. I figured I would do that once I got someone on the phone, but, okay. "Your product is a pain in the ass of Biblical proportions." Didn't think that would go over well. Delete. In a more civilized tone, I explained my plight. Hit "submit." I came to a page that read, among other things, "You will be charged $29.95 per incident." Bullshit. I pick up the phone and call. It soon becomes clear why they discourage contacting them.

In an accent so thick I could barely understand what was being said, "Symantec, how may I help you?" I lead by telling him I wasn't paying for shit. If the product worked, I wouldn't be on the phone with him. "I don't handle that." I explain my problem. He transfers me to a woman with a thicker accent. I reiterate my position about paying for this call. She says something unintelligible. I ask her to repeat. She repeats. All I could make out was that I don't have to pay for it. Cool.

I move on to the reason for my call. After about a 20 minute phone call, which would have taken 5-10 minutes if I wasn't constantly saying, "What" Or "Can you spell it for me,"I had to run the Disc Cleanup Wizard.

It took another 20-30 minutes to run that and download the virus definitions. Oh happy day. I'd had enough. I changed clothes and went for a run. It was 3 PM.

I got home, showered, grabbed some water and settled in front of my albatross. Actually, the computer is cool. It's fucking NIS. Anyway, I listened to about an hour of the workshop and it seems as though it's going to be helpful. But it's a three-hour workshop, so I'll let you know for sure tomorrow. Right now, it's barley and hops time.

Ciao.