My old computer died in May, after just over a year of ownership. It was annoying on two fronts – one, it was my computer and a source of much needed distraction and entertainment during the lockdown period and two, it was during lockdown so getting it fixed was a chore.
So we didn’t.
We put it on one side and post-lockdown we took it to Curry’s for them to um and ah over and decided to refund us the money it cost because what sort of machine will only last a year before just ceasing to function in its entirety, huh?
Oh no, wait, that’s not what happened.
So lockdown ended and we didn’t do much with the computer. And then we did take it Curry’s and they looked at it and saw that it didn’t power up and they listened to the story of how it was just over a year old and really that’s not good enough and they said, “we’ll see what we can do.”
Which was – up to press – almost less than we did with it during the lockdown period.
We got a phone call, yesterday, from someone in a centre somewhere about taking my machine for repair. The machine which, incidentally, we had left in the store in Huddersfield a month or so ago and they had done fuck all with. We only got a phone call, coincidentally or not, a day or two after Carole went in and kicked off a bit with the manager about how fuck all had been done.
So the guy on the phone wasn’t very helpful, or seem to care or understand that it’s just not good enough for a grand’s-worth of PC to just pack up and completely die after just over a year of use. In fact, judging by Carole’s incredulous tones after she took the phone off me (because she was the one who dropped the PC off while I sat in the car with Peppa fresh from the vets) he had gone so far as to say he would expect a computer to die after that length of time.
The man was a tool, then.
But anyway, we’re still no further on than we were several months ago. Just £60 lighter because you have to pay that as some sort of fee for the inspection of the machine just for them to tell you that it’s dead and if they can’t fix it you get that back. I’m almost 100% sure it’ll be some sort of unfixable motherboard-killing blow that was dealt, so we’ll be getting that back… but then begins the what the fuck are you going to do about it phase of the whole process where we have to drag up EU laws on electronics and stuff before Brexit puts the kibosh on that and everyone’s shit out of luck and has to make do with whatever happens on everything because we’re British and that’s what the British do.
I’m waiting for a call about the computer, to say it’s dead. And I’ll say, “yes, that’s the point. That’s what I was saying from the get go” and they’ll say something about having it verified by someone qualified and I’ll say something about not having qualifications but being clever enough to ascertain that a computer should not just turn off of its own accord mid-use (especially when it was just a livestream I had running at the time) and then never ever restart ever again.
We’ll get nothing back and everyone will be furious.
Mostly Carole. And then me.
And one of us might kill someone, judging by the mood when we got the phone call of uselessness the other day…