I was getting really hot one night–a cry for help that I was about to explode.
That’s when my owner Meghan turned me off for the night in the hopes that I’d feel better in the morning.
Instead, my fever resulted in The Blue Screen of Death, which sent Meghan into a panic the next morning as she lamented having never saved our files to an external harddrive.
But alas! There was hope in the form of a repair centre in Scotland. Courtesy of my 4-year warranty, Meghan could get me fixed for $0, plus £19 S&H. That’s when we agreed that I ought to go and get a little “me” time.
Meghan made sure I was wrapped up in enough bubble wrap to deem me worthy of participating in one of those egg drop competitions that middle school science teachers so adore, and I was off. Better me than her, anyway, since she’s not so great at interpreting Scottish accents.
When I arrived, Lenovo decided not to tell Meghan I made it safely, so she called to check on me. I am, after all, her most valuable possession in the U.K. The company also chose not to update Meghan on my progress as their employees wiped my harddrive and reinstalled my operating system. Nor did they send me back with some tartan plaid wrapping and complimentary shortbread. Nor did they inform Meghan that I was on my way back, despite my being her most valuable possession in the U.K.
Instead, they sent me back with one piece of paper stating that they reinstalled Windows and were not responsible for software problems.
“It’s so nice to have you back,” Meghan said. “Even though I lost a lot of my music files because of your little incident, I’m just happy to know that you’re healthy again.”
Yet, inexplicably, my wireless doesn’t work. For those of you who know my owner, you know that she absolutely needs the Internet for important social media tasks.
Meghan had someone take a look at me tonight, and she determined that my motherboard and wireless card are toasted. Gone, kaput, dead. (“‘E’s kicked the bucket, ‘e’s shuffled off ‘is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible!” I might add.)
Meghan believes this oversight on the part of the Lenovo staff is akin to her walking into a hospital with a missing ear and being subjected to a mammogram. I tend to agree.
Thus, I’ll be returning to Scotland for the second time. Meghan wants me to recover, but if she has to pay for shipping again, she might as well have accompanied me the first time around.
I must admit, I share her anger towards Lenovo. During my second absence, she’ll be replacing me with a fully-functioning, user-friendly Macbook Pro. The insult is almost too much to bear after all those “‘I’m a Mac’ and ‘I’m a PC'” commercials.
And I fear for my future offspring, too. I might be Meghan’s last PC.
*transcribed on behalf of my laptop, who is experiencing a health crisis