The laptop shop from Hell

I was recently in the market for a laptop as my last one’s hard drive got fried in a power surge when one of the bright sparks down the road decided to do some renovations and hit a power line.  Needless to say I armed all my power points with surge protectors shortly thereafter.

Buying a laptop is tedious yet serious business.  There are so many to choose from.  I know a little about computers in regards to size, speed and capacity so I wanted a laptop with enough RAM and hard drive to last for a while with at least an i3 Intel processor.  I decided to give a local large stationery company – who shall remain nameless – a go as they had a few desktops and laptops in stock.

After much haggling and looking at specs I decided on one particular laptop.  The salesman returned from the storeroom and told me that this particular model wasn’t available but they had another one and he could do it for a similar price.  I was satisfied with this and took the product home.

On getting it home and unwrapping the product I discovered that the product was broken.  Not just broken – the screen was smashed on one side, one of the lugs that holds the screen in place at the back was missing and some of the keys appeared to be glued back into place on the keyboard.  I was flabbergasted.  The product had obviously been put in the box broken as there was nothing wrong with the box.  I rang the company and unbelievably they tried to blame me for damaging the product.  After a heated discussion with the manager they told me to bring the product in and they would ‘have a look at it’ – and concluded that the serial number on the product did not match the serial number on the box and that somebody had swapped the product out.  Really?  The manager then had the cheek to ask me if I had a similar product at home.  By this time I was seeing white spots before my eyes and was about to burst a blood vessel.  I told the manager if I had have bought the product for nefarious purposes in the first place I would have made damn sure I got the product I asked for and not accepted a different product that was offered to me because the original product wasn’t available.  He eventually conceded that he may have some less-than-honest employees in the storeroom and offered me another laptop.

At this point I probably should have learnt my lesson, got a refund and walked away but I got a second laptop and took it home.  All was going well – until I tried to start it up.  It would get to a certain point in the setup process and then spit the dummy and go to a blank screen.  I tried this a number of times and got the same dummy-spitting effect.  I concluded that there was a software problem and once again rang the store.  This time I got the manager-bitch-from-Hell employee of the year who told me that I could bring it back but I wouldn’t be getting a refund and they would be sending the laptop off to get it fixed.  Get it fixed?  WTF?  It was broken before I even opened the box.  My shitometer hit unprecedented heights and I let her have it.  I told her I wanted to speak to a nicer, more customer-friendly manager or they would be speaking to my solicitor.  I was not a thief nor was I dishonest.  All I wanted was a laptop that worked efficiently and they obviously couldn’t supply me with one.  Twice.

In the end they gave me a full refund.  I took my mother with me for backup that day because she is the veteran of winning arguments around these parts and was angling for a fight.  It was all a bit of an anticlimax as the bitch from Hell was nowhere to be seen and I spotted the salesman I dealt with disappearing hastily out the back as I walked in the front door.  I spoke to a nice saleswoman who apologised and gave me my money back.  I went to another store and purchased another laptop and have never had a problem with it.

Lesson learned.  Open the darn box before leaving the store.

Arachnophobia

I don’t like spiders.  They scare me shitless.  I can’t even look at one in a magazine or on my computer.  I have to quickly turn the page or scroll past at light speed.  I’m not sure why as I know they can’t move off of the media and jump out and bite my ass.  Tell that to my ass though.

I’ve had my share of spider horror stories although I haven’t been bitten.  No doubt I have come close as I’ve wandered around in the garden or bushland at times but what I don’t know won’t hurt me.  It’s the in-your-face stuff that makes my hair stand on end and my brain melt into my spinal cord.

My first experience was the result of a good deed gone wrong and probably why I never offered to vacuum my adolescent room ever again.  My mother housed the crusty old cleaner in a box, in a cupboard and out of the light – an obvious favourite haunt of the eight-legged horror which I felt rather than saw as I put my bare foot on an enormous huntsman that continued to wriggle its way to freedom from under my foot and between my toes.  I doubt very much my feet hit the floor for the rest of the evening and I spent the night at my friend’s house.  I tend to wear foot covering everywhere these days except in the shower.

I managed to avoid any chance encounters until a night on the town with my future husband turned into a nightmare as I walked through a group of trees near our destination and straight into the biggest spider web I never saw.  I’m sure I looked a picture of grace and dignity as I danced around like a lunatic trying to get the sticky stuff off me but when my date walked up to me and flicked a huge spider off my head and onto the ground I lost it completely.  He still talks about my screaming sprint past the jazz club windows while the patrons cheered me on.

Not long after that my son and I were downstairs sweeping the entrance when we spotted another large huntsman near the roof.  Commonsense and past experience prevailed and I left it alone but not my son – he decided to poke it with his broom which knocked it onto the floor and straight up his shorts.  I am ashamed to say that I laughed so hard I cried – until the wretched thing ran down his prancing legs and straight up mine.

My last and most recent experience with a spider once again involved my son.  We were putting out the garbage and spotted the largest red back spider we’d ever seen in a web at eye-level on the carport.  We both got close enough to look at the red stripe running down its back when it moved towards us and the sensor light went out at the same time.  We both nearly knocked each other out in the dark as we bravely scrambled to get away from it.  Needless to say we both lived to tell the tale and the spider was dispatched with haste.

I see a few huntsman spiders here and there now and again but I leave them alone.  I figure if I don’t bother them then they won’t bother me but if I find one in the shower with me then all bets are off.

The holiday from Hell

Over the years my husband has pestered me to get a passport so that I could travel with him and enjoy the many delights of different spaces, places, cultures and food.  I have never really been interested in travel but I got myself organised and got myself a passport.  A few weeks later.. or so a previous story goes… my husband booked a holiday to Thailand online and I bought myself a new suitcase.

The holiday turned out to be great apart from a bout of food poisoning which put me off the local cuisine and took me to as many Subways that I could find in Patong as at least I was only getting salad on a bun.  Having food poisoning with my illness is no laughing matter and I was out of Solu-Cortef injections so I wasn’t taking any chances.  Subways once again came through and I remained healthy for the rest of the holiday.

A year later my husband was being sent to Singapore for a company training course and asked me to come along.  We could pay for the flight with frequent flyers and the accommodation was company-paid and therefore mostly ‘free’ (I like that word a little too much).  As I had taken up photography the year before and didn’t take any cameras to Thailand I thought this would be a good opportunity to get some experience with wildlife and cityscape shots so I was keen.  After all, I was okay the last time I went overseas and as long as I stuck to bland food (Subways or hotel restaurant) I would be okay.

One day after we landed and my husband had gone to do his course, one of the wives (a friend of mine) who had come along asked if I would be up for some Singapore public transport to check out some of the tourist attractions.  I didn’t need to be asked twice – I packed up my camera gear and joined the fray of Singapore civilians going about their everyday activities on the rail system and bus routes.

We ended up at a fantastic bird park and I got some really awesome shots of a multitude of birds doing a multitude of bird things.  I was having a great time although a little tired from the overpowering Singapore humidity and the smoke haze that hung in the air from the palm oil fires across the country at the time.

On the way home I started to feel slightly nauseated and went to bed early with a headache and an extra dose of cortisol to make up for the strenuous day.  The next day I was feeling drained but I managed to get out and about and do a little shopping and sightseeing with my husband that night where I got some great photographs of the Singapore skyline Singapore night 3bfrom the top of a viewing platform.  It was after that the rot set in.

I barely made it back to the hotel room before I was throwing up.  This went on all night until I had nothing left and kept going.  I decided to get a doctor in to give me a needle to stop the vomiting and when my husband returned he gave me my Solu-Cortef injections to make up for the lost cortisol in my system.  Unlike Thailand, however, I did not improve and ended up in the Singapore Hospital for five days with some unknown virus, a multitude of IV medications and even more oral medications.  I lost count of the blood tests and my sodium was dangerously low.  The hospital refused to let me out until my sodium normalised and my endocrinologist in Australia was contacted for instructions on the correct dosing for panhypopituitarism.

As for me, most of my time in the hospital was a blur of sickness and fear.  Fear of being in a strange hospital in a strange country dangerously ill with an uncommon underlying illness that few of the doctors there knew anything about and a fear of not making it home.

I made it home mainly thanks to my hero husband running the gauntlet of hospital doctors, hospital administration, insurance company paperwork and rebooking flights home when I was well enough.

Six months later I am still suffering the after effects.  I came home mentally manic from all the different drugs that I was given and had to see a psychiatrist for medication to slow my brain down.  I am still feeling the after effects with some insomnia and bad dreams when I do sleep.

I am getting better, however, but have decided that my next holiday will be a long time coming – and won’t involve flying to a foreign country.  I think Cairns would be nice.

The Black Dog

I watched a program on television recently that dealt with the issue of suicide and mental illness and how prevalent it is amongst our younger generation.

Don’t get me wrong.  Suicide and mental illness are not limited to the younger generation but it is especially heartbreaking to lose a young and troubled soul without feeling sorrow for a life not well-lived and the unimaginable anguish of the parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and school friends left behind.

Suicide has touched us all to some degree, whether it be somebody we know, somebody close, a friend of a friend or even our own morbid thoughts at times when things have been at their darkest in our lives.  I have not escaped unscathed with my various health difficulties without wondering at times whether it is worth the effort of struggling with the pain and functional difficulties that I have been left with.  I keep on top of it.  I keep busy.  I work and study and develop interests to keep the black dog at bay but others may not have the support that I have had or indeed the will to keep on dog paddling when they would rather sink to the bottom of the abyss.

The reality of the abyss was brought home to me again last year when my son’s best friend decided that he simply did not want to keep on paddling for another minute more.  He left behind a beautiful family, many friends and a community of people who he had helped in his short life wondering what had happened.  He didn’t drink, smoke or take drugs.  He went to church and believed in God.  He was kind, generous and loved.  He was planning a trip overseas and had booked the tickets.  He did not appear to fit the profile of a depressed and mentally ill young person and he simply slipped through the cracks.  He had sought help a few months before his death and unfortunately was not followed up.

The abyss will always be there.  It does not discriminate.  It can affect anybody.  There is no clear answer but it is clear that we need to become more aware of our fellow man and be a little more compassionate.  ‘There but for the grace of God go I’.

Travel bug bites

It’s been a while.  Between illness, travelling and new hiPad pics 195obbies I haven’t given much thought to writing this blog.  Although I should.  I have been asked more than once to keep this blog going and so I shall endeavour to do my bit for the literary world.

I have had a few highlights in the last few months, one of which was that overseas holiday that I was so busy procrastinating about in one of my last blogs.  It turned out alright in the end and laid my travel paranoia to rest until the next time.

We started the trip on a high with a hired limo to get us to the airport.  I was a bit reluctant to leave the plush leather surrounds and the free sodas to get into the confines of Qantas cattle class but as I got to watch the latest movies on the flight over with a set of headphones that drowned out the screaming baby a few rows in front of me I was reasonably content.

The concerns I had about my pharmaceuticals and my portable fridge were unfounded and with my specialist’s letter in hand and we breezed our way through the Phuket airport terminal into a wall of humidity that would have put the Queensland tropical weather to shame on its worst day.

After ‘OMG, the heat’ and ‘why did I bring a jacket?’ we settled into our air conditioned taxi and hung on for a nail-biting  30-minute breakneck ride through Phuket to our resort in Rawai.  I was really not sure what roundabouts, red lights or pedestrian crossings were for anymore as they were completely ignored by everybody as drivers went for gold to get to their destinations in the shortest amount of time with complete disregard of impact statistics and safety regulations.  I saw five people on one scooter, four on another and one old scooter with three adults, two chickens and one dog on board.  There were also people in Tuk-Tuks, in the back of utes, in cars and pushbikes topped off by a multitude of massive tourist buses dodging the lot of them.

After three days my husband was zipping around in the traffic like a pro with me on the back silently screaming and mentally telling him to hit the brake.  We zoomed through red lights with the rest of them, dodging anything and everything that came our way.  I wasn’t quite sure whether it was my husband’s skill that got us through it or the skill of everybody else getting out of our way.

We moved from Rawai to Patong and discovered ten different ways to say no to the spruikers and stall holders at the various markets wanting us to buy everything from T-shirts to tattoos.  I also discovered paraflying and spent a nail-biting few minutes sailing high above Patong beach taking in the view and not worrying too much about travel and accident insurance.

For my first time overseas I think I did okay.  Apart from one bout of food poisoning I came out virtually unscathed with a new appreciation of just how lucky I have it here in my own country with services that I take for granted.  True, I could have more in life but I could always have a lot less like some of the people I saw in Thailand…and for that I am grateful.

Just another day…

I really like my electrician….

He lives locally, which is important, as I live on an island.  He works on the premise that  ‘if you’ve got the money, then he has the time’.  To be fair he is reasonably priced but he has been shafted so many times by our local island skin flints that he makes it a rule these days to be selective.  Thankfully, I am one of the chosen, as he is quite good at his job.

As far as listening to instructions outside of his electrical realm, however, he falls into another category.  Mere male status.

He fronted up last week to install the fancy leadlight fittings that I had purchased and he proceeded to blaze a trail in and out of my house to his truck to collect all of the necessary bits and pieces that he would need.

After his the third time out the gate I asked him if he was going back out the gate again could he please shut and lock the gate behind him, as my dogs would be out before he could blink to check out all and sundry smells in the immediate vicinity.  He nodded his head and stared at me.  I should have recognised that blank look for what it really was.

Approximately 10 minutes later, as I was holding the ladder the electrician was perched on, I heard a terrible screaming  and rushed outside to see my two fat Bichons running for their lives towards the gate and a larger, ferocious looking mutt being chased off by my neighbour who then informed me that the aforementioned mutt had my Bichon, Angus, in a death grip before she managed to scare it off.

As Angus had shot into the house and under the ladder to hide in the corner, it was impossible to see how much damage had been done to him but the electrician soon learned a new vocabulary as I pushed him and his ladder aside to get to my poor quaking dog who was beginning to howl.

To cut a long story short, my dog had three rather large puncture wounds in him and had to be taken to the vet for sedation, antibiotics and various other medical administrations.

Apart from the trauma for my poor dog, the entire day cost me approximately three times my original estimation for light installation, as I had the gate fixed up so it would never again be left open.  I’m thinking of adding an extra-large spring to flick back on any potential offenders in the future.

As for my electrician, he beat a hasty retreat after the job was done and I received a half-price guilt-induced bill  in the mail.

Personality plus

Well, my drug trials begin soon.  Not the kind that involve a criminal court and an angry mob, I’m talking about the needle-in-the-vein, guinea-pig-experimentation kind.  And I’m the guinea pig.

I’m not sure how I’m going to go, as the new drugs I have had to go onto in the last few months to ensure no contraindications on the trials have turned what would have been a mere mood swing beforehand into something out of a Bram Stoker novel.  My husband has taken to having his hand on the front doorknob after I get up in the morning just in case he has to go down to the shop for something he has ‘forgotten’ for a few hours until my medications settle down.

The upside of the whole thing is that even the local nutters are keeping away from me.  I think they figure I’m one of them now so their scare tactics will be better served on somebody a little more gullible and a little less likely to take a swing at them.  The greenies and their sympathisers are also giving me a wide berth.  Gossip gets around fast here and apart from the few that are privy to what is really going on, it is taken as a given that I may end up on the 6 o’clock news in the near future and they don’t want to end up on there with me.

I’m hoping that the new drug I will be given next month will balance me out or at least make me feel a little less likely to want to put my hands around the neck of that woman down the road who keeps telling me that it’s all in my head and I need to snap out of it.  I know what I’d like to snap and it’s not anything in my personal vicinity.

With any luck the real problem in my head, the remaining tumour, won’t grow and I will be feeling like a new person.  In the meantime, expect sarcastic comments, acid degradation of fools and zero tolerance for the masses for a few months more, at least.