|
_________________ Wednesday 9 February 2000
1 14 am pst [ bizarre days ] I had one of the more bizarre days of my life. I had three strange encounters. Matthew is not home yet and I am getting very worried, but I am trying to be a big girl and tell myself everything is ok. I don't know at what time of night I should start really flipping out. What if he isn't home at 2, or 3? It's a school night, and he didn't mention he was going anywhere. He left me a message this morning that he wanted to talk to me this evening. Please, please let everything be ok. Just as I finished typing that he e-mailed me to let me know he was working late on his homework in the computer lab. Whew!
|
|
2 10 pm pst [ strange encounters ] Strange encounter #1: So I had gone through a lot of trouble to get all prepared to take my computer in to get fixed. So I was certain it would be a quick and simple proceedure. I drove down to my dad's house and gathered up all the necessary documents and my computer. I changed into jeans shorts and I put on some silly socks that I pulled all the way up to my knees. It had just starting raining, and I knew I was going to look ridiculous in a long sleve shirt and shorts but it was what I wanted to wear. The heater was broken in my dad's car and it says on high all the time, even when you put on the air, so despite all attempt to cool the car, it was boiling hot. The place I was to take my machine to was only eight blocks from my house and I found a parking space and ran inside before the rain got hard.
|
|
The guy at the service desk was so nice. He said his name was Maz. He said it didn't mean anything. He had the problem disagnosed and fixed in two minutes. My power supply was dead. I needed a new one. The part cost $72. My computer is still under warranty. "Let me just check with my manager." It had never occurred to me that there would be a problem. But there was. I could hear The Manager around ther corner telling Maz he couldn't give me the part. Maz reported. I said I wanted to talk to The Manager. I calmly explained that I had called beforehand to ensure that I had all the requisite information. I said it was unacceptable for him to tell me I needed more information once I was there. He coldly answered that it was fine and dandy for everyone to feel for me, but he simply could not help me.
|
|
The problem is my serial number. You simply cannot read it from the bottom of my computer. On days when my computer got hot, the rubber feet melted off the bottom and my serial number melted too. [It occurs to me now that peharps the auxilliary fan is not functioning.] Now I wanted to make this work on principle. I asked The Manager if he could get a magnifying glass and try to read the number off the bottom. He coldly replied that he didn't have a magnifying glass. I gave him the number which I though was my serial number; I did my best to read it off the bottom of my machine. He went to process it. When he came back, I asked him if he was having a bad day. He said, "Every day." He meant it. I suggested he go horseback riding. "Horseback riding?" He looked at me like I was certifiable.
|
|
"Yes, horseback riding. Or skiing. You sit in an office all day and it makes you grouchy. You have to do something physical." He said he needed something spiritual. I asked him if he was religious. He went to check with Apple. He said that I had a case numbe, but not a CS number. He said what I needed was a CS number. I explained that if I had known that, I would have gotten one. He said Apple wouldn't have given me one. "Oh yes they would," I almost shouted. Then I bit my tongue. You just can't tell someone you always get your way when they are about to give you your way. I was at the point where I was ready to take my business elsewhere if he gave me any more of a hassle. But I tried to be nice. I hiked my leg up and showed The Manager my socks even though he specifically said he didn't want to see them.
|
|
A lovely female employee came over, and she began chatting with The Manager. I interject my regular stream of nonsense. He said that the employee's husband was "a big guy." "My boyfriend is big," I shared. "He's 6'2." "There's a reason men have short girlfriends," The Manager replied. "And what is that?" I inquired. "I can't say," The Manager answered. "I think you should let us all know; I think you should say in mixed company." I smiled. The female employee said, "She's sharp," with a giggle. A man wandered up to the service desk. The Manager and the femal employee were chatting. I looked at the guy and then at The Manager. My eyes grew wide. I would never have stood there so patiently waiting. But this guy did. He litterally stood there for ten minutes until The Manager said, "Can I help you?" The man wanted a power cord. He was very unhappy when The Manager said they didn't carry them and suggested Radio Shack.
|
|
The Manager wandered away. He had confirmed that Apple had approved my order and he was processing my paperwork. I talked to a television commercial producer who was also getting the same power cord I was. When everything was signed and taken care of, I ended up staying and talking to The Manager for another half hour. He said that he wouldn't have given me such a hard time if he hadn't known that I could handle it. This was a relief, because I was beginning to wonder if he was genuinely one of the rudest people I had ever encountered. He wasn't. I shared with him one of my secrets in life. This is one that I made to help Matthew be less stressed out. There are two principles. One is that everyone -- everyone -- is doing their best to get by on this planet. Two is that there are a lot of stupid people who make stupid decisions when they are doing their best trying to get by. If you laugh at them intead of getting upset, life is a lot more fun.
|
|
Strange encounter #2: It was after dark when the doorbell rang. I though for a second and decided to answer it. Two attractive young men stood there. "Can I help you?" They said they were selling art. I said I absolutely could not afford it and I wished them the best of luck. They asked if they could show me the art anyway. "We value your opinion." I told them I really couldn't buy any, but if they wanted to show me, fine. They parade out a substantial collection of oil paintings, and if I had an extra $150 laying around I would have snatched up the stunning poppies. They were from Israel and we talked about art, Hebrew, school, and all sorts of nonsense. I wished them well again. One of the guys said, "Can I ask you a question?" "Sure" "It's personal." "ok." He then proceeded to tell me he watched Dawson's Creek in Israel and ask me if we had it here. It was the last question I would have expected. I told him I was sorry I didn't know when it was on when he asked.
|
|
They left and I went to the magazine that comes with the newspapaer and has the times of all the television shows. I ran out to the street once I found it. They were two doors down. "Wednesday, 8 pm, channel 5." They thanked me, no doubt thinking I was a loon. "Can I have your number?" one of them asked. "Yes," I answered, my mind racing as to how to casually tell him I have a boyfriend so I wouldn't be seen as leading him on. I wrote down the time of Dawson's Creek on a piece of paper and then I wrote my name and number. "I won't be here for the next two weeks." "Why?" "I'm going up north to visit my boyfriend." That took care of that. He thanked me again and said he would call. I wished him luck again and settled down to some dinner. I had such a scrumptious salad sprinkled with fresh lemon juice (I picked a lemon from one of my mom's trees before I left her place) and piled high with seasoned crutons.
|
|
Strange encounter #3: I was sure nothing else bizarre could happen. I settled myself on the couch, flipped on the tv for noise, and dug into my e-mail. I love my computer and I am so happy to have it back. My dad's answering machine is in the living room, so if someone calls, I hear the message. I try to tune them out, but I generally get bits and peices of what is being said. The women all call and say, "Hi, it's me." Then men leave more varied messages. Well, my dad got a message yesterday. It was a long tirade about how horrible his game of racketball is. He went on and on and the conversation turned very locker room. He said my dad's wrists were weak from masturbating and he should think of the racket as "an extension of his member." After finally wrapping up his nonsense, I picked up the phone and said, "Hi, this is his daughter Rachel." I couldn't resist, and of course I absolutely mortified him.
|
|
We ended up talking for forever. He told me he hated LA and I told him he should move. He said he wanted me to design a website for him, so we talked about that. We talked for a long time, and he made all sort of statements about my father which I have high doubts about. He said men tell their friends some things they wouldn't even tell their daughters. Men also tell their daughters things they wouldn't even tell their friends.
|
|
two years ago today: "I don't feel so hot right now. Actually, I feel like I've been crying all morning, which I haven't. I just have this vague feeling of something being wrong." * * * six months ago today: "I still make Matthew cringe with my stories of the time I brought home a baby king snake I had cought with my bare hands." * * * * * *
|
|