I’m feeling a bit like Alice these days with papers and things flying down on me. I am sorry but this stuff should be easier and it would also help if (ahem) my own personal technological beasties would cooperate a bit better…

So, last week I got this nasty-gram in the mail. It offered me perfunctory condolences, then rushed headlong into an exhortation to “call this number to report…” Okay, I HATE making phone calls but I called. It wasn’t as bad as trying to call AT&T (and I haven’t done that phone call yet) but these phone menus? They were from hell! “Enter the 9-digit SSN *OR* the 8-digit account number.” Really? I didn’t know the account number so I put in the SSN. It said, “You have entered the *account* number [last 8 digits of the SSN]”. Say what?

I started over and rejiggered my responses to the menu prompts and eventually got to a HUMAN, which is what I needed in the first place. (And no, I could not just press “0”, it took a “7” to get to a HUMAN.)

This human was very nice. She spoke the English language fluently and what did she tell me? Well, our records show that we already know that [duh] so really you didn’t need to call. You’ll get something in the mail. Thank you god. So why did I spend ten minutes on the phone?

And so I did get something in the mail. “Make a copy of this letter” and send it with that document to this address. Make a copy. Make a copy. Make a copy. … I fergit when the GG bought his loverly iMac. It was only a few months ago, I think. There was a deal on a waaaarrrless printer and he took advantage of it. Everything was all right. For a while. Yesterday, I tried to use it to copy the dern letter and all it would print out was a big gray rectangle. And I couldn’t use my looooverlllly little scanner because it does not work with the operating system and/or computer that I’m using now.

So… This morning, I hit Staples on the way to work. I put my debit card into the copy machine and made ONE copy. Yes, there is a ten-cent debit on my card.

It was raining cats and dogs throughout all this and that was okay (hey, it’s better than ice!) except for the part where I got to work looking like something the cat dragged in. Which was humorous to the LSCHP, who had just been over to my cube and was wondering where I was. Because I am *usually* in earlier than him. When I am not fumbling around with a self-serve Staples copy machine.

And of course, the trackpad on the expensive, lemon-flavored MacBook Pro that I bought in JUNE is definitely going south again. This is the fourth time. It’s sporadic this time. I wonder how much longer I will put up with it before I make myself take it over to the “Genius” Bar. At Briarwood Mall. The mall that just about gives me hives every time I need to go there.

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