Email this article

Serviced Again

By David Feela

"For English press one." So you press one, knowing the version of English you'll eventually hear is not your native tongue.

"To purchase products, say 'Products'. For status on an order, say 'Order'. If you are calling for customer support, say 'Customer Support'." You say, "customer support".

"I'm sorry, I did not understand your request." You repeat the words, "Customer Support."

"I'm sorry, if you want to purchase a product, say Products. For status on an order say . . .." You shout into the phone, Imbecile!

"Thank you, I'll connect you to customer service representative."

That's how it started, my latest automated encounter with technical support, but it got even stranger.

Our new Acer laptop had a serious hard drive problem which emitted a clicking sound the moment the computer booted. It arrived in that condition. Each time the noise started, the computer locked up. I explained this to the technician and eventually received the company's blessing to send it on to Texas for repairs, but not until I submitted to a series of over-the-phone technical adjustments by Acer's offshore consultants in India assigned to confound the problem.

"Yes," I replied, "I'm tapping the F8 key."

"No," I said, "the computer is still booting."

"Yes," I intoned, "the battery has been removed."

"No," I sighed, "the problem is not repaired."

Finally I held my phone over the location where the clicking sound originated. I held it close enough for the technician to smell the plastic.

"Tell me what you hear."

"Eet sounds like a cleeking," the technician replied.

I hummed "The Yellow Rose of Texas" while I waited on hold.

When the serviced and supposedly repaired laptop arrived at my home two weeks later, I plugged it in and booted it up: No clicking. But I also didn't have any electrical power. It would only run on battery, which - like my patience - was rapidly diminishing.

I dialed the dreaded service number, went through the automated hoop dance, then got connected to a technician named Ashutosh, which I later learned translates into "fulfiller of wishes." Whose wishes I could not say.

"No" I repeated, "the electrical adaptor works, but the port that connects it to the computer has stopped working since I returned the computer to Acer for repairs."

"What kind weather deed you have recently?" Ashutosh asked.

"Perfect weather, but the adaptor has been disconnected since I sent the laptop in for repairs," I replied. "The weather inside my desk drawer has been dark but extremely calm."

I did as he asked, performed the required technical adjustments. I removed the battery, disconnected the power, held the power button down for 30 seconds, then put it all together and rebooted the computer. I tapped the F8 key. The electrical connection still wouldn't charge the battery.

"Eat appears your adaptor needs to be replaced," Ashutosh asserted.

Now I knew this technician needed to be replaced, but I volunteered to drive 60 miles to my nearest computer service center to test the power unit on a computer that worked, since that's what it took to get a second repair order written up.

Four hours later I dialed the dreaded service number. Jabari was assigned to my phone call, which could be recorded for training purposes, I was told, though it seemed unlikely, based on the personnel I had previously spoken to.

"I told you, it's not the adaptor! I had it checked. It's the computer."

"We are sincerely sorry for any inconvenience," Jabari replied, "but please leashen carefully."

I did as he asked, performed the required technical adjustments, again. I tapped the F8 key. I removed the battery, disconnected the power, held the power button down for 30 seconds, then put it all together and rebooted the computer. The electrical connection still wouldn't charge the battery.

"Eat appears your adaptor needs to be replaced," Jabari recommended.

What followed might have been recorded, but if it was used for training purposes there should be no overpopulation problems in India.