The connection was ropey and the accent was foreign, not so much Indian call-centre, more middle European, and I wondered long it would be before I was reassured that he wasn’t trying to sell anything, or that I’d won a competition I hadn’t even entered, or there were representatives in my area that week. But he didn’t.
“We have received an error report from your PC Mr Parrot and I am phoning to help deal with it.”
Firefox has been crashing quite a lot recently and my OS has hardly been on its best behaviour, but it’s always me who pays for the calls when I need support. I must have said something of the sort.
“Your XP system has logged an error Mr Parrot.”
“But I don’t run XP.”
“You are Mr Parrot of 3 Brookdale Avenue?”
“No I’m not.”
“We must have the wrong computer,” and then he put down the phone without even saying goodbye, ignorant sod.
I tried 1471 and surprise, surprise, the caller had withheld their number. I now wish that I had played him along a little to see where he would have liked the conversation to have headed. I suspect it would have been to me downloading some software so he could fix my “problem” remotely, as reported in the Guardian yesterday.
I also wish that I knew enough about computers to devise a program that could grab his by the vitals and send a power surge back to blow his mouse balls off.
I’ve since comes across some excellent recordings of the stingers getting stung over at Digital Toast.