Thursday, December 19, 2002|
PRAYING There are some benefits to being sequestered in the American Outback, the Hinterlands, the broad stretch of Strip Mall between NYC and LA that blurs like the landscape seen from a speeding bus. For one, people tend to trust you, another way of saying they are easily swayed. I own an iBook, one of the snazzy little white ones, and one year after I bought it, Apple called telling me my warrenty was up and offering the extension plan. I normally eschew anything as responsible as Warrenty Extensions but for whatever reason (maybe because I could tell the caller was a Queen) I agreed and was told I'd be charged. Well - long story short - I was never charged and three months later went to the Apple Store in L.A. to get the AC adaptor replaced. It had become frayed and was sparking and making all sorts of noise which was momentarily fascinating to myself and the dogs. Replacement: No Problemo! Someone had given me the Warrenty Extension as a Present! Woo-hoo! When I got here to Florida, the Adaptor Cord was again frazzled (I have no idea why) and finally began spitting and fireworking before dying completely. I called Apple and their advice was to go to CompUSA and tell them it's covered under my Warrenty Extension Plan. So I did. I went with my sister and took the damaged cord to the Customer Service Desk, explaining what happened and what Apple said to do. The "Service Representative" was young and pleasant enough and proceeded to ask me some questions which was where I knew the deal would be made or broken. "How long ago did you get the Computor?" "Uh, three months." (A year and a half.) "At which store?" "An Apple store." (Wrong.) "Not one of our stores?" "No, but Apple said you would replace it." (This was true.) "I can't find anything in the computor." "I called earlier and they said it wasn't a problem." (I had called... for directions.) "Let me ask the manager." This, I knew, was the crucial point of the interaction. Here was where I could clinch the deal or leave defeated with a frayed cord and lose use of my laptop for days to come. I thought of you, my loyal readers, waiting expectantly for updated posts. I though of myself, my mind stuffed with amusing words yearning to be read. I thought of the Universe I'd created here at Standing Room Only and my responsiblity, no duty to keep it alive. "This is my sister." I said, nudging her forward as a Desperate Pimp might offer up a Ho to the Feds. "I'll be back." In the meantime my sister and I wandered off to play with the X-Box demonstration, our sole purpose being to see if it was possible to break a Game in the Store. We were unsuccessful and eventually saw the Customer Rep drifting back to the Sales Desk. "Well, we can't find any info but we decided to give it to you anyway. Just leave the box and take the new one."
YES! Thank you Sweet Jesus! Ah may Gawd, it's good to be Home Sweet Home. |
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HOLIDAYS
3:56:34 PM  sro home /
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ON THE ROAD I haven't posted my "Fashion Report" from here in the American Outback yet because I've been waiting till after tomorrow when we go to The Mall. That's all you have to say, just The Mall (even though there's more than one) but apparently there's only One anyone worth their Yard Chickens goes to. We fortunately live close by, so we're considered "lucky". It's all part of some strange Southern Hiearchy that frankly I'm not too eager to figure out. From what little I have ventured out, I've noticed people stare at me. At one time I might have thought it was my earrings, I have a silver hoop in each ear which I've had for over 15 years and never take out. Now, of course, piercing are no biggy (even here) so that's been taken off the table. Maybe it's my glasses. I wear very small silver round glasses, like the kind Mad German Scientists wear in films of the Forties, and in L.A. I get compliments on them constantly. Here it may be a bit much, inferring I'm "artsy" or "bookish" or both (read "queer"). Whatever the reason, I catch mothers steering their children away and men give me looks like trying to figure if they could "rassle me down" if I suddenly snapped. Some nod and say "hey", the unspoken message being "It's cool. You must be bad to wear that stuff but I'm down" or something. Who knows what goes through their minds? After all, their entire family is wearing red sweatshirts with iron-on reindeer. Truth be told, I'm probably more afraid of them than they are of me, like they say about venemous snakes and spiders. The one thing I have on my side is my size. Odd looking or not, I'm still 6'6" and for animals in the wild, Size Does Matter. Last night at the "Food Lion", the checkout woman was either crazy or retarded or both. She had three teeth and Trucker Woman Hair, hair that hasn't been cut for at least twenty years and dyed about a year ago, just long enough so she has a good two inches of grey roots at the base of the bright orange. When I got to the register, she started scanning everything and looked up to me. "You're tall. Not from around here huh?" Did the statements relate? Had I been thrown into the Lilliputian Backwoods where strangers are taller than 5'5"? I was reluctant to answer and instigate an actual conversation, unsure of how much of her bug-eyed glare I could take. Fortunately I discovered she's quickly distracted by anyone who walked in the Supermarket and no reponse was neccessary. Crazy Retarded Trucker Woman kept turning her gaze to yell things at the arriving customers, one's I assume she knew.
When I got home, I asked my mom about the checker. "Who?", she asked, "the crazy retarded one?" Silly as it sounds, I was somehow reassured it wasn't just me. |
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BLOGGY
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Last update: 6/3/08; 11:25:02 PM .
