Cause & Effect

As an adult, there are some cause/effect situations that don't take me by surprise anymore. If I get my car washed, I can almost guarantee that it will rain within 24 hours. After I pick up all the dog shit in my yard, the neighbor's Fleet Farm food-eating dog will wander over. If I drink gin, I end up with a headache. But the most recent and frustrating situation that I've had to deal with is that every time a science paper needs to be printed, the printer freaks out/breaks down/pisses me off.

If you recall, there was a crisis about three months ago involving a science project and a broken printer. Since then, the defective printer has been replaced and I was looking forward to making it through the rest of this school year, and even part of next year, without any more printer drama. I am a fool.

Last Sunday, Zach was attempting to print his 24-page report on telescopes when we realized that the red lines that were a necessary part of his diagrams were printing in yellow, the grays were brown, the blacks were blues and the blues were the color of pus. Obviously, since no one is a big fan of pus-colored diagrams, this was not acceptable. Luckily, my friend rescued me -- again, and wow do I owe her a lot of vodka -- and I made a call to Hewlett Packard customer service, again. This time, though, it didn't go quite as smoothly as the call three months ago. Here is a fairly accurate transcript of my third call, after I was disconnected the first two times:

(Dial 800-474-6846. Get automated voice of a woman that sounds like someone I would definitely NOT be friends with.) Welcome to HP consumer product support. Your call may be monitored or recorded for quality purposes (followed by random Spanish that I didn't understand because they never said margarita). Please tell me which of the following you'd like to do: Purchase a product, get tech support or check repair status.

Me: Go fuck yourself, because my printer sucks.

I'm sorry. I didn't get that. Please say purchase a product, get tech support or check repair status. Please don't tell me to fuck myself.

Me: I. Need. Tech. Support. Then go fuck yourself.

Okay. Got it. Now, which of these are you calling about? A notebook PC, desktop PC, printer, or say it's something else.

Me: A piece of plastic that resembles a printer, but is actually a giant hunk of shit.

Okay. Printers. If your product is out of warranty, we may have to charge you absurd amounts of money in order to complete this call. An HP agent located half-way across the globe can provide you with your options, which include paying with an internal organ, taking out a second mortgage or selling one of your children. You can review your options at www.hp.com/we-sell-pieces-of-shit/customers-are-suckers-to-our-deceitful-advertising. Alright, to get help with your crappy printer, I need to know what kind of crappy printer you have. You might say something like Laserjet, Photosmart, or Edgeline. Go ahead and tell me what kind of defective shitball you have.

Me: I have a piece of shit that won't work, and you sound like a bitch. I think I hate you.

I didn't get that because I'm a useless automated voice, not a bitch. I need to know what kind of printer you have. You might say something like Laserjet, or Photosmart. Tell me now, because at this point the call is definitely being monitored.

Me: Screw yourself. I hate Hewlett Packard. But fine, I have a fucking Officejet.

Sorry. I still didn't get that because you swore at me. Please say one of the following: Laserjet, Photosmart, Officejet, Deskjet, or PFC.

Me: OFFICEJET YOU STUPID BITCH! DON'T YOU LISTEN?

Alright. Are you using a Macintosh operating system?

Me: Duh, of course.

Okay, please have your product, model and serial number ready for your agent. We will also need to know your height, weight, age of your second-cousin's college roommate, how many boxes of mac & cheese are in your kitchen, how much gas is in your neighbor's car and what Santa ate for breakfast. So please continue to be a pathetic loser and continue holding the phone to your head, because I'm transferring you now to someone that won't be of much help.

It's moments like these that explain why, at the Twins game on Monday, our food tab was only $7 but the liquor tab was $50. So I guess even though I don't enjoy the inconvenience of dealing with broken printers and pain-in-the-ass phone calls, it's kind of worth it because I always enjoy forcing myself to self-medicate.