... ..out-sourced ....April 22, 2004   The year's last cold front blew through town like the parting shot of a lovers' quarrel.  It was Passover and, increasingly, I felt like a first-born Egyptian. As my son and I lay convalescing--he from surgery and I from living another day--there came a knock at the door.  I opened it and saw poised in midair a bolt of lightning that had assumed the form of a fist.  I had seen similar phenomena before.  Bugs Bunny, for example, was often led astray by fragrances or cooking aromas shaped like hands with come-hither index fingers.  Before I could slam the door shut, the fist reverted into a classic zig-zag lightning bolt, raced across my kitchen, and braised my computer. I dialed the "tech support" number and, for several days, I remained on hold waiting for someone to support my tech.  Moments before I fainted from hunger, I heard the voice of what sounded like a convenience store clerk standing on Neptune.  Though he identified himself as "Lebron," I suspected I had been out-sourced.  I could almost smell the curry.  Of course, I didn't care that Hadji wanted to pretend he was an African-American from M.I.T.  I cared only about fixing my computer. Eventually, I diagnosed and repaired the computer without Lebron's support.  I had only to replace the power supply, memory, hard drive, mother board, and radiator.  Now I can write again. If only I could think of something to write. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..2d quarter index..|..next

©  2004 by the beastmaster