Proud to announce that this blog has NOT been outsourced

A little anecdote to get me back in the game...

In the midst of tax preparation, my laptop generated various error messages and went black. Ours is a passionate affair – one that frequently results in one or both of us hanging off the balcony attached to life by a flimsy, rubber umbilical cord.

Friday was no different. I called the ‘Computer Homicide Prevention Line’ (aka Technical Support) as we hovered on the edge of the metal railing.

“He’s going down!” I declared to the humorless technician.

“Cher nazen Troy pewter,” the female voice patiently explained.

“Huh?!” The black casing wobbled in my confusion.

“Vie Ming gong whelp you.” As I was fairly certain that capital punishment had not been approved for computer cruelty, I sat down with computer in hand to contemplate the nonsensical conversation.

“Ken eye Callou Abbacus?” the pleasant, but obviously insane technician requested.

“Sure,” I replied pleasantly since I always try to be nice to the mentally ill.

“Neato see romp.” My active brain started to see a pattern in the gibberish. I realized that I was listening to a strange new dialect of my mother tongue.

“Do you want me to get a C-prompt?”

“Shez.”

“Where are you at?” I chatted as I performed the necessary function.

“Indjia.” Of course, I thought. Outsourcing was the root of my troubles.

“How’s the weather?” I asked pleasantly as my computer shut down again. I didn’t wait for a reply before reporting my new error message.

“Shut-in On-star,” she requested.

“No problem!” I was already shut down, so I hit the power key and watched the computer pretend to roar to life. After a few more moments of pleasant conversation, I was fairly well versed in the tech’s thick Indian accent. We worked together well until she had to transfer me to her supervisor.

“O ee a ou aw oo zee.” Came the new voice.

“What?!” I asked.

The slightly annoyed reply came, “O ee a ou aw oo zee.”

“Where are you?” I asked in a panic.

“Ah uh ah”

I hesitated one moment before switching off the cell phone, while cursing my ethnocentric American education that had ill-prepared me for a global economy. I had an important discussion with myself about the fate of education in American, President Bush’s ridiculous budget proposal, and the state of international trade. I probably revolutionized American politics, created world peace, and solved poverty, but I forgot it all the moment I tried to access the Internet and was given yet another error message.

The voice on the other line of tech support was equally pleasant as the first, “Hi, My name is Julie. May I call you Becca?”

This new accent proved very troubling. I ran over each sound in an effort to form words. Hi. My. Name. Is…

“Julie!” I replied with extraordinary exuberance.

“Yes.” Came the reply with slight hesitance.

“Julie, I need you to promise you won’t leave me.”

In all honesty, the voice sounded slightly frightened as she assured me I wouldn’t be left alone. I ignored that fact and began at the beginning of my computer woes.

Two hours later, Julie and I bid a fond farewell, although we hit a bit of trouble when she refused my offer to learn to knit just to provide her with a token of my adoration for her blessed California accent. Really, I was just being grateful. I think threatening a restraining order was a bit overanxious.

Anyway, I related my story to my sister, who tells me that McDonalds is thinking of outsourcing all drive-thru orders. How ridiculous! Can you imagine ordering something from India to be made 10 feet away from you? It just seems like a misuse of the telephone system PLUS it will make all ordering incomprehensible, just like modern tech support!

To support the American Way, I left immediately for McDonalds. The speaker rumbled to life 45 seconds after I approached the menu.

“Fuzz, crackle, shhh, pop.” The faint Mexican-American accent rode the wave of static.

“Yes,” I responded. “I would like a Chicken Caesar salad and a small yogurt parfait.”

“EEEE, fuzz, pop, fizzle?”

“No, no fries. I would like a Medium Diet Coke, though.”

“Crackle. Crackle. 5.”

“$5.35?” I ask.

“ZZZZZZ.”

“Right. $5.75. Sorry about that.”


Okay, so maybe outsourcing won't change things all that much…