(✝↣♤) (INFP/Phlegmatic) (23) (any pronouns) (possibly nonbinary, possibly transmasc. possibly a bit of both) 〜 please for the love of dog i want to reblog more sticks 〜 animated header can be found here: https://imgur.com/a/cmN3tIQ 〜 lil bit of shitposting, lil bit of fandoms, lil bit of hobbies, lil bit of relevant information about Current World Events, lil bit of anarchy. and by "lil bit" i mean "75 posts in a row of complete bs" 〜 Artblog: @rosie-v-does-stuff 〜 Icon: me Mobile banner: me, using a gif from @xxxsarihartxxx, based off unknown :c
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Why is dealing with Apple such a fucking chore all the time?
“This is my boss’s old computer. She was leasing it. She has a new computer. I am returning this one.”
“Okay, you want me to send it in for recycle.”
“If that is what you do with old leased computers, then yes.”
He fusses around with the computer
“Did you do data migration?”
“Yes. We just want to send this one back.”
“And she wants to lease a new computer?”
“We are already leasing a new computer. We want to send this one back.”
“Hold on let me get the manager.”
He takes the computer with him.
He comes back.
“It looks like this is the old one.”
“…yes.”
“We need the new one if you want to start a lease.”
“We have the new one. This is the old one. I just want to send it back.”
“Okay we just need her email to check the leasing information.”
I put in the email.
“It looks like that email is not associated with her apple id. Do you have a receipt of the data migration?”
“They told me when I did the data migration that I just needed to bring the computer and nothing else.”
“We need something to link the account to the new one.”
“Its already linked. We just need to take th ed old one back.”
“Do you have anything that might link the apple id?”
I log into her computer and pull up the email regarding her leasing agreement.
“This looks like a business account.”
“Yes. It is my boss’s computer.”
“I’ll need to get the business accounts manager before we go forward.”
He goes and gets him. I’m starting to become skeptical of the phrase ‘genius bar.’
Business manager gets here. Tries to soften the process with a joke, but it feels empty.
“I see you’re trying to turn in an old computer.”
“This is my boss’s computer. She was leasing this computer. She is now leasing a newer model. We would like to send this one back.”
“Do you have the serial number of the new computer?”
“I was not told that I needed that.”
“Can you call her and get it?”
“Shes out of town and doesnt have her computer with her.”
“Let me get the person in charge of your account.”
He goes to get him.
There are now three men staring at my boss’s computer.
“Do you have the apple id?”
“No.”
“Login and I’ll show you how to find the apple id.”
I log in.
He points.
“This is where youd find your serial number.”
“For this computer. Yes. But I need it for the new computer.”
“This is the old computer?”
“This is the old computer.”
“Do you have the serial number for the new computer?”
Now very frustrated. Now questioning how smart the technology actually is.
“No.”
“We need the new computer serial number.”
“I dont have that. My boss isnt near her computer to find it. So I cant do this until she gets back from Cleveland?”
“Well maybe she can tell it to you.”
“Shes in Cleveland. Her computer is in Reynoldsburg. She cannot give it to me. I’m just gonna leave now.”
I went to the apple store today with the intent to return it because I now have the serial number and the appropriate email and phone number and I’m prepared to tell whatever lies I need to tell to get it out of my hands.
I speak to a manager.
“This was a lease with our business plan?”
“Yes. This lease ended. Its wrapped up. The new lease has started with the new computer, its wrapped up. I just need to hand it in.”
“Let me get a business associate.”
There are no business associates today. He returns.
“We cant take it back for you. Your leases with CIT. They can send you a free shipping box to send it back. I dont know why they said they could take it back and I dont know why they asked for the serial number.”
So after that, I still have the computer.
I’m about to scream so loud my pronouns are gonna be ban/shee.
Listen that sounds all ridiculously exhausting and I feel your pain but the sentence > I’m about to scream so loud my pronouns are gonna be ban/shee.
is a *work of art* and also hilarious enough I should not have read it with my mouth full of noodles.
A mark on your forehead identifies the god you must worship to stay alive, usually by joining its local church or temple. Your mark is unknown, meaning an old, forgotten god sponsored you. To survive, you must either find an old temple to worship at, or do the arduous task of building a new one
Nobody in your small coastal village has ever seen the Godmark that you were born with. It’s a dark russet sequence of criss-crossing lines, with a vertical arrowhead on the left and a circle on the right, just over where your brow meets your temple. Some of the traders who come down from the mountain say it looks like one of the scripts used in the hinterlands, but not a language that any of them recognize.
“If she’s got the temperament for it, she should try her luck inland,” they advise. “No point her starting a temple here if she’d find her people elsewhere, with a little searching.”
At first, your parents are reluctant to send you away. Though you’re well-behaved and diligent in your chores, you’re a sickly child with no God to worship. And besides, you’ve always been the dreamy type–inclined to lose track of time watching the path of rain droplets chasing down the window, or the fronds of an anemone as it sways in a rock pool.
Instead, they send you to the temple of the Storm to learn all you’ll need for your own God. You are happy there, for a time: making up beds and serving food to the castaways who pass through, keeping vigil at the lighthouse, burning incense and praying with the loyal widows and orphans of the drowned.
One such widow, an old, old lady, touches the mark on your forehead. “I recognise those letters. We wrote this way in the town where I grew up, way off past the mountains.”
Your heartbeat quickens. “What does it say!?”
She squints, eyes engulfed by wrinkles and hidden behind smudged glass. “A… Ar… Oh, I can’t remember how to speak it. I left before I learnt my letters properly. There was a war, you know. But I remember,” she says, mistily, “the most beautiful pink and white flowers used to grow, on the borders of the wheat fields…”
You try to ask more questions, but remembering the war distresses her, and so you speak of other things. When she’s drifted off to sleep, you get to your feet, go home and tell your parents: you are leaving in search of your God.
