This is my first blog written on my brand new laptop. I've written nearly 500 blogs and almost all of them were written on my very knackered laptop with an Ood sticker on it. I know absolutely nothing about computers at all but I was recommended, by geek friends, that I should get one with Windows 7, an Intel Core processor (dual, preferably), at least 320GB of memory on it's hard drive and at least 3 GB of RAM. With this in mind, I picked one that was red. I like red. Red is like a big fire engine. NER-NER! NER-NER!
So off I went to PC World to buy my new laptop. Buying an electrical item from places like PC World is an almighty pain in the arse. Sure, picking the laptop takes 10 seconds (red tends to stand out) but actually trying to just pay for the thing and leave takes hours. What a shitty admittance to failure the whole "Would you like insurance with that?" begging plea is. You know I don't want fucking insurance because I didn't ask for insurance. Every fucking shop you go into now is McDonalds. Would you like fries with that? Would you like a large bar of chocolate for only £1? Any sandwiches or muffins to go with your drink? That's £2.99 for the hat, would you like to buy a fucking wardrobe to put it in? JUST LEAVE US ALONE! If we want it, we'll ask. Even fucking Holland & Barrett have tried pushing men's fitness magazines on me which means I have to buy twice the amount of camomile tea because my stress levels have gone right up. Oh, they know what they're doing, the health concious hippy bastards.
So I went up to one pale-faced dick who worked there and said I'd like to buy a laptop. He looked like I'd just told him his parents had died. I really thought he was going to cry. There he was, innocently skiving behind the Norton PC Protection boxes when an evil cunt (me) found him and asked for help. What a bastard I am. Why didn't I just shoot him in the face and then fuck the bullet hole (pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaassssseeee give me a TV series, Channel 4)? He told me that going into a warehouse, picking up a box and bringing it to me wasn't his department. Fine, he's in charge of hiding behind software, so I went off to find someone else. A shop assistant came right up to me and asked if he could help. I said yes but I was wrong. Again, going to get that box about 20 feet away was not in his job description. He's simply employed to ask if you want any help but nowhere in his contract does it say he actually has to do anything after that. Finally I found the guy in charge. He seemed nice. He also looked crestfallen that I didn't want any insurance. Then he looked melancholy when I refused a PC protection kit. And speakers. And a mouse. And a laptop bag. And insurance again. But at least he got me my red laptop. All I had to do was take it to the counter and pay for it.
Laptops are very special. You can't just pay for it like a tin of beans or an orphan. There's paperwork to be filled in. They need to know my date of birth and my postcode and my top three favourite Sugababes members. They needed this information for their computer. Their big, evil, PC World computer that must not be questioned or lied to. Their big, evil, PC World computer that can lazer-beam you into it's components and make you compete in the Light Cycle races against the Master Computer. Their big, evil, PC World computer that...doesn't work.
PC World's computer crashed right in front of me. The guy in charge took me to another big, evil, PC World computer. It didn't work either. I looked at him and said "Would you like insurance with that?"
It felt good.