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| Always be Prepared |
Nothing ever exciting happens when you expect it to, but when you let your guard down, it's your own fault when things get out of control. Always be prepared for anything is my advice.
I took my computer in to get it fixed, and received a call
yesterday that it was ready for pickup. I held my nine-year-old’s hand as we
entered the store. The guy at Expercom pulled the computer out when I gave my
name. With a smile I asked, “Did you figure it out?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” he said only cracking his face to
speak. There were no other signs of emotion or greeting.
"You didn't fix it?" I was confused because when
the girl previously accepted it, she appeared as if she had an idea as to what
was wrong.
"There was nothing to fix." He printed a paper
requesting my signature, but I’m not sure why. I didn’t even look at it.
I explained again that it randomly shuts down, displaying a
paragraph of Chinese words when it reboots, shuts off again after, and then
repopulates without sound. I must go through the reboot process again to gain
full access, which doesn't mean the computer is fine. Every other time they've
fixed it without a problem.
He looks at his screen. "You've never brought it here
before."
"This is the only place I've brought it, and like the
eighth time you guys have had it."
"No," he said, "Maybe you took it to another
store."
"Okay, so what about this time? Is what I explained to
you considered normal?" I asked, relieved he at least returned the
computer to me.
"What was the date you supposedly brought it in last
time?"
"I don't know. It was like a month or so ago. I don't
remember the exact date."
He clicks a few keys on the keyboard.
"Can we just get back to this time?" I asked. The
tension was quickly rising in the room. My daughter grabbed my hand. She'd seen me angry, but attempted to keep me calm.
The guy stepped back from the keyboard with his hands up in
front in him. "Look, I'm trying to help you," he said, "If
you're unwilling to answer a few questions, I won't be able to assist you
properly. Now, will you please cooperate?"
"Cooperate with what?" I said. "I just want
you to fix it. I've got school finals due and the work is on my system."
"You know what?" he said, his voice shaking and he
became a taller version of Cujo.
"I'm just going to distance myself for a minute, and I'll be back after I
calm down."
Hurrying through the swinging door behind him, an outburst
of profanities littered through the air. Crashing sounds echoed from
the back.
“Who’s he talking to?” my daughter asked, her eyes wide open
as she tugs on my hand.
“He’s letting us know it’s time to go,” I told her. I gave
her hand a squeeze and a smile, trying to reassure her she was safe as we
dashed for the door.
We hurried out to the car. I put her inside. My eyes coasted over the glove box as I closed her door and then they shifted
to the store. I could see the asshole behind the counter, eyes narrow slits,
and his hand popped up displaying one finger at the end of his arm.
Without being aware of what I was doing, entering a surreal
world, I swung the front door of my car open, and popped the glove box. The gun,
I had purchased for self-defense, practically jumped into my hand. I needed to
preserve my mental wellness by ridding the world of this schmuck. One less
idiot can’t hurt.
“You stay here and Mommy will be right back,” I said with a
warm smile.
The door swung open with the annoying ding-ding, as if I needed an introduction. He knew I was coming,
but he didn’t see my friend until I raised it in front of me, headed straight
for him.
I was surprised to see him take a stand with a cocky attitude.
He actually chuckled for the first time. “What? You’re going to shooo…”
BANG!
The first shot hit his throat. Blood gushed out as he instinctively
clutched at it with his hands. The alarm on his face was priceless. I only wish
I could have made that shot twice and seen an instant replay. What the heck,
I’d give it the ol’ college try.
BANG!
Unfortunately, I missed. Oh, I didn’t miss him, just the
same shot. The bullet shoved his right eye back into the depths of his head
with an explosion on the wall behind him.
“You give me a headache,” I told him, as his body flew
against the wall behind him, creating a work of art on the wall. Probably the
only decent thing he’d accomplished all day. His body collapsed and shook on
the floor in a puddle resembling thick maroon paint. “I’ll just call Apple and
have them help me.” I tried to reassure him I could handle the situation
myself. I was completely able, after all.
The computer guy’s lips moved open and closed like a
beggar’s hand. I think he may have been trying to tell me to “Have a nice day,”
but I’m not sure. I didn’t stick around to find out. So far talking to him was
useless.
Okay, this didn’t really happen, at least not the last part.
When the imbecile ranted about what a bitch I was, I grabbed my daughter and
left. I never took the gun from my glove box, but I won’t say it didn’t cross
my mind.
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