This is sad.

This is very sad!
In October 2011, my beloved family (OK!..OK! the wife and kids), bought me a North Face Gortex Jacket, from JOHN LEWIS, THE TEMPLE of MAMMON. A superb bit of kit! Lite as a feather, and as warm as toast. In fact, if it was full-length, it’s all I’d need. I could go out in the depths of winter in the nude, wearing just the coat, and a pair of sturdy walking boots.

A week ago, the jacket developed a problem with the zipper: the little slidey up’n’down thingy, began snagging on the jacket’s lining, and jamming solid, causing me profound displeasure, and inestimable irritation.

My wife, a devoutly religious woman, and not one to pass up on the chance of prostrating herself before any or all of this Basilica of St.Consumerism’s, ‘PLEASE PAY HERE’ alters and tabernacles, seized the opportunity to take the faulty garment back, to exchange it for a new one. Or so she claimed.

After what seemed an inordinate length of time, my wife returned home empty-handed, but exuding an air of satiation.
“Y’ get it then?”
“What…? Oh yeah… no, sorry. I had a quick look, but the zips all looked as though they could probably have the same problem. I couldn’t be arsed trying them all. I got a refund. You’ll have to go and get one yourself.”
“I can’t do that!” I almost cried out… but I choked it back…too embarrassed to even hint at the sorry sad truth. I said, “Me?”
“Yeah, you. You’re good at that sort of thing.” she lied, with the fluidity of the congenital liar.
The problem for me here, is the fact that John Lewis is where I first met iMac. I’m talking about 17in iMac that sadly passed away in early Dec. 2010

When ultimately, all she could present to me was a black screen covered with thousands of tiny pinpricks of light, a veritable, ‘Starry-starry Sky’, as it were, I knew in my heart that it was the end.

I entrusted her to the care of CompuDoc, conveniently located less than a hundred yds away at the end of the street, returning the following day for the diagnosis/prognosis.
“It’s y’r motherboard pal…it’s fucked…shag knackered, banjaxed. 'Snot worth repairing. I can do you a reconditioned DELL, two hundred quid.”
I declined his offer, wishing I’d taken her to Apple Store or John Lewis. At least they’d’ve broken the news to me gently with a modicum of decorum.

As with those urns containing the remains of a loved one, that people place on the mantelpiece above the fireplace, I have her (iMac), sat on my desk top. Albeit, at times, partially obscured by my wife’s Windows emachine laptop that I resorted to using, not being able to justify the ridiculous cost of a new Macs.
Beggars can’t be choosers. The humble Wintel jobby does what’s required of it, as and when.

I’ve reluctantly said goodbye to my Apple days, and put them behind me. Truth is though…it isn’t easy. It…isn’t…easy. I realise now, that I should’ve enrolled with AA (APPLE ANONYMOUS).

to be concluded…


Ever heard of EBAY? A year ago, my other half got herself a 21" iMac, a year old in pristine condition — the seller was a budding app developer who was moving up to a more powerful Mac — with all the bits, in the original box, for, if I remember rightly, 410 knackers … 200 for a clapped out refurbished Dell … who was trying to take you for a ride!


Edit: And I would have gone to the trouble of taking the defunct one to Apple, and when they told me the motherboard was buggered, I’d have asked them how come a motherboard in an iMac, vertically mounted, nowhere near any liquid events, could get buggered if there hadn’t been something wrong with it in the first place! My 2001 400Mhz TiBook with its flexible keyboard still runs perfectly … if you count running like a snail on temazepam as perfect … and 32Mb of video memory, wow! :slight_smile:

Say it ain’t so, Vic! Not even a Mini?! All you have to do is add your old monitor… oh, sorry. Visions of a starry sky have never seemed so malevolent. May she (iMac) rest in pieces.

This is indeed sad. I sympathise. The remote ministries (a.k.a. website) of John Lewis, the Temple of Mammon, made me spend a fortune on lightshades and extravagant radio equipment this week, not to mention pyjamas for my son. I’m thinking of barring the URL from my browser, if I can only work out how…

It’s always worth taking Apple failures back to Apple for solution. We’ve had a few oddnesses over the years (multiple Apple laptops of various models), and they have always been very good about sorting out the problems, even down to a dodgy iBook motherboard.

I gave in to Mac temptation this morning, and ordered a MacBook Pro from the Apple website. My horrible kill-joy family told me that fancy processors and extra RAM were overkill for my needs, so I’ve just ordered the basic model instead of the all-singing, all-dancing fancy version I had specced out. It won’t be here till Monday, though. Wish I’d driven for an hour and gone to an Apple Store instead.

Spilling Absinthe into the computer is not covered under the warranty.

Get yerself a Sippy Cup!

Sad to hear of your loss. When is the funeral?

I think they’re playing a very dangerous game. It’s very important not to skimp on the essentials of life and MacBook Pros aren’t all that easy to upgrade afterwards.

On the other hand, families…

Dear treasured and revered colleagues,
thank you for your kind words.

The events which occurred in that hellhole yesterday, left me feeling vulnerable, very foolish, and with my self image desperately in need of a makeover.

This isn’t the first time it’s happened. It has happened once before, and uncannily, during the purchasing of another jacket, in the same godless establisjment. In this instance it was a Donegal Tweed jacket.

One can never successfully revisit the scene of one’s first encounter with an old flame, without feeling that certain pang of nostalgia; the rekindling of emotions you thought long dissipated and gone.

Cruelly, fate decreed that the Menswear Dept. be situated next to the computer showroom. My heart was being dragged mercilessly toward Digital/Cyber Mecca. I could barely summon up the patience to read the sizes of the jackets I deigned to examine. Trying them on was out of the question! I was becoming resentful of the demands on my time being made by the purchase of the jacket. It was an excruciating imposition.

Having paid for it, I turned away from the counter and almost ran the few yards between the two departments. I would have done, believe me, had it not been for the salesman calling to me, “Excuse me sir! You’ve forgot your purchase.” I couldn’t bring myself to thank him for his concern, he was, after all, delaying me even further. I snatched the bag off the counter.

However, once rid of the irrelevance of jacket buying, my mood changed…rapidly. By the time I’d scuttled the few yards between departments, I was as happy as a pig in…

From my vantage point on the edge of the Dept. I spotted her…seated at the end of the Apple aisle, unashamedly, wantonly flaunting her charms: a dazzling, alluring 21in iMac. I caught my breath, felt butterflies in my stomache beginning to emerge from their cocoons and stretching their wings, as my heartbeat quickened.

To put all this in some kind of perspective…I didn’t drop to my knees and approach her on them. No way! I didn’t even genuflect, when within kissing…sorry…touching distance. No, I just stood before her, transfixed by her beauty, devouring her with my eyes. Occasionally, or probably frequently, I’d touch the tips of my trembling fingers to my lips, and place them on various parts of her anatomy. Her beautiful anatomy.

I stood this way, in rapture, for how long, I know not? Time seemed without purpose. What eventually returned me to something akin to reality, was an encroaching sense of guilt, and shame. I was struggling to recall memories of my earlier relationship with 17in iMac. I sensed they were receding beyond recall, and it troubled me. As though perpetration some kind of betrayal. I suppose I was…wasn’t I? To this day, I still feel guilty about this lapse. I take succour from the fact that I am only flesh and blood.

I suspect that common sense had begun vying for ascendancy over desire/lust. I think that subconsciously, I was beginning to question my behaviour. In my addled brain, amorphous imperatives were slowly coalescing into unambiguous realities of responsible adult behaviour.

A gentle tugging at my elbow, accompanied by an assured sounding female voice, saying, “You’ve been stood there for a very long time sir, do you need help?”, caused me to turn my head to the left. One of the John Lewis partners was stood at my side, smiling at me. Sales assistants at John Lewis are known as Partners because all employees own shares in the company.
With my mind still in a state of flux, I answered, “Yes I need help, p’rhaps a spot of counselling wouldn’t go amiss.”
Before she could answer, another Partner approached us. He was a tall distinguished looking gent, with the air of a manager about him. " Would you excuse us for a moment, sir?" he asked as they moved a few paces away from me. Although he was speaking in a low voice, and was facing away from me…I heard every word he said.

I touched my finger tips to my lips and reached out to 21in iMac for the last time . I touched the bitten apple logo on the front. I whispered “Bye.”

I smiled a halfhearted smile at the two Partners, and made my way to the car park, feeling just a little smug with myself, en route, at being able to walk away from 21in, without forgetting to pick my new jacket up of the floor.

Later that evening, sat at my desktop, with a Jameson in hand, I pondered the significance of the manager’s words to his young woman Partner.
“When you’ve been with us a bit longer, Gretchen, you’ll learn to recognise them. Apple Macheads, we call them. We’re not really sure whether using Macs affects their brains and personalities, or, they veer toward Macs, because they’re already weird to start with. Either way, Gretchen, you can’t help them, there’s no known cure. We try to humour them as best we can…keep them happy, as it were”
I looked over the desk top at my deceased 17in iMac, a little guiltily I must admit, after my lapse earlier on, and raised my Jameson to her, "Here’s looking at you kid.
"The old guy was talking a load of old bollocks. I said to her.

That occurred in May 2011, but after what happened in John Lewis yesterday, I’m not too sure if he wasn’t right.

to be concluded

Ach! You’re tearing at my heartstrings! How does the story end? Also, I don’t like this “adult responsibilities” foreshadowing nonsense. When I read a story, it’s for the voyeuristic thrill of dark deeds and wanton acts of depravity. “Know your audience,” they say – they didn’t mean in the Biblical sense, mister!

What happens next? Type faster, Vic! The tension is unbearable :slight_smile:

No, not fate, design, or more precisely consumer psychologists, aka the high priests of the retail experience, always ready to lure the unwary.

P.S. Agog for Episode Two. :wink:

'Snot!'Snot! Y’ve no idea what evil these feckers are capable off! :open_mouth: :cry:

I can’t do Xrated stuff, that’s Siren’s Dept. She’s Scriv’s sluttish, debauched dipso. She’ll sort you out.

Siren, Precious, it’s so sad you don’t want to know!! :open_mouth: Believe me. :frowning:

If ever we should meet, you are going to be so disappointed in me! :wink:

Stop reading, and get writing! I want to know the outcome of this intriguing yarn…

I am still waiting for Fluff to weigh in on Vic-k’s plight…

If you think this is sad, pige…how sad can pathetic get? :confused: :frowning:

Ah, Fluff’s not lost and gone forever. I was beginning to suspect that vic-k might have entered into some sort of Faustian pact with the great deity of commerce, and that he had swapped Fluff for a 21in iMac :open_mouth: :open_mouth: :open_mouth:

Looking down on to the Menswear Dept. from atop the down escalator, is analogous to looking out over the Serengeti Plane. It’s huge. The Dept.'s fauna (human), in terms of size, shape and temperament, is many and varied, like the Plane’s.

The Plane is home to the, Black-necked spitting cobra. Innumerable thousands, if not millions of them, must inhabit the place.

Armed only with the information supplied to me by my wife, pertaining to the whereabouts of the clothes rack in the Menswear Dept, that the jackets were hanging on, I’d have far less hassle locating one particular Cobra, with crossed eyes, that answered to the name Odysseus.

With her phenomenal grasp of the Orienteering Art, and her encyclopedic knowledge of product location (everything, except, Menswear), within most of the North West’s up-market stores, my wife could furnish any of her pseudo-intellectual women friends, with exact co-ordinates (or not…depending on them being Persona Grata at the time), of anything they had there greedy little hearts set on.
“Just exactly where are these jackets sweetheart?”
“On a reduced rack in the Men’s Department.”
“Yeah…there’s thirty quid off them. Down from a hundred to seventy.”
“Hey…that’s fantastic. But. Just…exactly…where… in the Men’s department is the rack?”
“It’s down at the bottom”.
“Which end is the bottom?”
“At the opposite end to the top! Where the hell do you think it is…on the roof!? She was looking at me with what I imagined to be a similar expression to the Spitting Cobra’s, just prior to attacking its hapless prey.
“But which end is the top? I need t…”
“You’re taking the piss now”, she spat at me as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I should’ve realized that I was expected to know that top was opposite to bottom.
So, I hoped…oh how fervently I hoped…that, ‘bottom’ wasn’t right next to, ‘you know where’.”
To be concluded…size=85[/size]

If I hadn’t actually known “the battle axe” this would only be half as funny as it is. I read it to the boy. He should be done laughing in about a week.

Thank you for the headache. 20 minutes of laughter remembering all the adventures in Stockport have everyone here looking for the following two things.

  1. Aspirin.
  2. A gag for me.

I’m going to be sore for a week.