Microservices. How may I help you?

No, I do not know your password. ESPECIALLY not your root password. I do not know where to FIND it.

If the password system does not like your password because it it too easy to guess, it's not my problem! MAKE ANOTHER ONE. It's sad how many people don't know what an acronym is.

If you broke your computer, you have to at least be able to USE it to fix it.

I cannot help you if you don't know what operating system you have. There is no Windows 99.

If you can't find the start menu and you insist you have Windows, we have a problem.

I will not do research for you. I know less about your obscure fax/graphic/CAD/video/compiling software than you do.

Three words: Call the manufacturer.

I will not walk you through reinstalling windows. Use fdisk and press enter 50 times. Was that hard?

I cannot see what you are seeing, nor can I tell you what you are seeing. If we are not seeing the same thing, you are wrong. Not me.

If you use floppy disks and have problems with them, you are not a victim of cirumstance, you are an idiot.

The duckware CD will not magically install your dialup. No one knows why you think this.

No I will not help you with AOL! If you use AOL, you need a different kind of help than I am qualified to give.

If you are getting an authentication error on dialup, ninety-nine percent of the time it is because YOU typed something wrong. Believe me.

Your modem does not double as an ethernet card or vice versa.

Yes, you do have to open a web browser to browse the internet. Funny, that.

Catch 22: I cannot fix your computer unless you want to learn how to fix it.

If I begin screaming, it means one thing: Read... The... Fucking... Manual...

Don't yell at me because you got porn spam. I didn't send you the message on how to enlarge your penis size... though it would be funny if I did.

If you are older than dirt and you *really* believe your computer is out to get you, it is.

If your computer is older than dirt, pray that it dies soon. Better yet, put it out of its misery before I gouge my eyes out.

And if you are having problems with windows 95, you might make me cry. Don't ask me to fix it, I don't know why it still lives.

If you don't know the error message and can't get it to come up, I can't fix it.

You don't have to read me every word of every popup that comes on your screen. Hit OK and get on with it.

I will only spell out "password.uoregon.edu" for you three times before I get cranky.

English PLEASE. You no speak? Me no speak.

If your printer is broken, I'm sorry. I can't club it for you over the phone. If you bring it in, we'll talk.

Hello. Thank you for informing me that you are Mr. X from X department. Don't pull rank on me, Smartypants. Your computer's nuts are in our vise.

Please don't unplug it while it's on. Love ctrl-alt-delete. Use the power button, it works.

Do not email us your password. We can't fix your problem with your password. But we can now wreak havoc in your name with YOUR account. But we're nice, so we'll just disable you instead.

You want me to transfer you to Microsoft? I'm sorry, Mr. Gates is out to lunch and Mr. Jobs is getting a soda right now. Can I put you on hold till they get back?

LISTEN WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU.

Do. Not. Put. Me. On. Hold.

If you are on hold for five minutes or more, there is a ninety percent chance I am either laughing hysterically, crying, or beating myself repeatedly in the head with blunt objects. This is my polite way of telling you to go away.

If your question involves six or more levels of shell, you breathe more linux than air. Not even God can help you.

If you are running a warez server from your dorm room, you are not allowed to be pissed when your ethernet gets shut off. The same goes for port scanning and kiddie porn resale.

If it won't boot, I can't make it.

Please don't ask me to guide your hands inside your computer. More innocents die that way.

If you have summoned satan into your computer or have an equally heinous virus, find your system disk and pray.

Nuke and pave. If you're too scared, pay us and we'll do it for you. We like to. Kill disk, baby.


*******
This is for a forty-hour work week. For those people who can make an eight-hour day of screwing around seem like working in a canning factory. This is for all those calls you love to hate, that make you want to laugh and curse and generally shoot yourself.

I love my job, I really do. Sometimes I feel guilty for getting off the phone and banging my head against the dest while trash talking the latest caller. Some people deserve it more than others, some are just naive. But man, we have the greatest time with the people who have no clue. I have NO COMPLAINTS. I like dealing with the impossible idiots and assholes as much as I do dealing with the simple one-minute questioners. I love giving my cynical, sarcastic, ironic side more fuel and just laughing with everyone else about silly questions. Even if saving someone's system is usually thankless, I love feeling all-powerful.

This is for the Hell's Angels, the girls of tech support, the new breed of g33k. I like being cute, tall, blonde and knowing how to reinstall a TCP/IP stack, reformat a drive, or set up LPR printing. I love being able to build a network and create my own computer from scratch. I love the stories (yes, real idiocy does sometimes happen...) and taking them home is priceless. I like helping people.

This is for all the times when I've been unable to handle working on my own computer because I just can't do it any more at the end of the day. At work, I run a 1.7Ghz pentium and a G4. At home I run an Athlon 500, albeit suped up. I've neglected Frederick for too long. I just can't stand to give him reconstructive surgery, it makes me tired.

I really couldn't ask for a better time at work. We're always having a good time, eating French chocolates, talking about politics, playing the latest games. The stupid people make it all so much more worthwhile. In the word of Tenacious D, "this is just a tribute."