How many times has this happened to you?

You buy a product or service, and it’s either a piece of junk, something goes wrong with it, or the service just ends up being something you didn’t expect. So what do you do? You call the customer service number you were given when you first purchased said product or service. Or, if you don’t do that, you go in to the store to talk to a representative face to face.

It seems like good customer service is a lost cause nowadays, because most of the times you call into a company, you get an automated line that has you wait until you get a list of numbers to press, which takes you to another menu where you get more numbers to press, which then has you try and “say” what your problem is (which we all know is impossible, because the voice recognition sucks.)

If you’re like me, you’ll just try and hit “0″ or say “representative” as soon as you get on the call, so you can bypass all that, but unfortunately for us a lot of companies are getting smarter by the day, making it so that you can’t do that anymore. Essentially it ends up pissing you off, and you just go buy another product, or cancel your service. Pisses me off.

Likewise, if you go into the store to talk to someone, most of the time you’ll get the run around of “we can’t do anything” or “that’s not my decision to make” and other BS excuses that just make you waste more time than you want to. So, you ask for a manager. The manager comes out and tells you pretty much the same thing, and unless you’re insanely bold like I am (thanks Dad) you end up walking out defeated, and aggravated, vowing that you won’t do business there again.

I’d like to take a bit of time again to highlight an amazing experience I had at a very well known mobile phone company. T-Mobile. This ladies and gentleman, is how you take a disgruntled customer who is looking at different phone companies, and bring him right back into the fold:

My credit sucks. It makes it almost impossible to get a phone, which as we all know is an absolute necessity in this day and age, unless you get some sort of pre-paid plan. A friend of mine told me that T-Mobile had something called a “flex pay plan” which is essentially pre-paid, except it does include some perks that going to Walmart and getting a refillable account does. You actually get a plan, and are essentially a T-Mobile customer, there’s just a few restrictions. Once your minutes are gone, they’re gone unless you pay for more, you can’t buy apps and put it on your bill, etc.

Regardless, I was pretty happy just to have a phone that wasn’t a piece of junk. What I was told upon purchasing the phone, was that after my first years contract, if I proved that I was paying my bills, and not going past due I’d be able to switch over to a post-paid account. The advantage of that for me, was the fact that it was cheaper.

A year passed, and I called up T-Mobile to ask about switching over my service, to which I was promptly told I could not. Upon arguing that the person who set me up with my original account told me I could, I was told “it’s actually cheaper the way you have it set up anyways, for what you have.”

I paused.

Then I proceeded to walk the representative for T-Mobile through the steps to show her how it would be cheaper if I had a post-paid account. She was quiet for a moment and said “Oh.” Then again reiterated to me that there was nothing she could do, and if I wanted to cancel my flex account and try for a post paid account again, I’d have to wait a month before I could reapply.

I was flabbergasted. Irritated. And completely done with T-Mobile. I started looking that day at other companies. Unfortunately with my credit I had no success, unless I wanted to pay out the butt.

A few weeks ago, I went into my local T-Mobile store, just to pay my cell bill and figured I’d ask about phone upgrades for a flex account. Jeremy looked up my account, and instantly looked back at me and asked “Um, is there a reason you’re still on a flex pay account?” Of course I answered “well, because you guys told me I couldn’t switch over?”

He told me whoever said that was wrong, and looked up what it would cost to upgrade my phone, and switch over the account. I ended up walking out of the store with a brand new MyTouch Android phone, 3G data coverage and unlimited texting all for about twenty bucks more than I was planning on spending for my phone bill. And, my bill is about thirty dollars less than I was paying previously. AND, Jeremy was so kind as to give me the student discount, and set my bill so that I wouldn’t have to pay for a month and a half. So essentially I got two and a half months of cell service.

All because of one guy, who happened to care enough to look, and spend the time to get things figured out for me.

That ladies and gentleman, is how you keep a customer, and how you get said customer to write a blog about how great you felt from that experience. It’s not that difficult, in fact, it’s really their jobs to make sure that we as the paying customers are taken care of, correct? The best way to retain business, and to get new business is by referral. It’s not rocket science to figure out that in order to GET a referral, you need to make someone want to refer you.

So, why is it such a dying notion?

The following is an excerpt from a series of short stories. Mostly because I was asked to show off a little bit of something fictional I’ve written. So. Phil. Here you go. Enjoy.

Flying first class was pretty nice, I decided, as a rather sexy stewardess walked by with a champagne bottle, checking with us to see if we wanted refills.

We were on our way back from Hawaii, where I’d won the American Dream and Fisher had retained his Television title. Both of us had decided we needed to celebrate a bit, so rather than head straight home, it was time for a repeat trip to Vegas.

Fisher was in the seat next to me with one of those complimentary pillows behind his head and a sleeping mask that read “American Airlines” on it. Who knew if he was actually sleeping or not – I think he just liked using all the stuff. I nudged his elbow and he stirred a bit.

“Dude, what the fuck do you want?”

Oops. Apparently he was sleeping.

“Champagne?” I asked, holding my own glass out to the stewardess – her nametag said Jenny Lee – for her to refill yet again.

“Does it look like I want champagne?” Fisher said snootily.

Obviously rhetorical, so I left him alone, turning my attention to Jenny Lee. Blond, blue eyes, rockin’ tight body that didn’t even look like it was fake baked and a smile that could knock any man out cold. She was the kind of girl that if you saw her walking down the street, or anywhere for that matter, you’d triple take.

“Thank you, Jenny.” I said, flashing her my best smile.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Please, call me Tyson.”

She giggled, which was a good start to a flirtatious flight. “Okay…Tyson.”

Fisher sputtered next to me. I just rolled my eyes.

“So, Jenny, how long you been a flight attendant?” I asked, shifting my weight in my chair a bit.

“About three months now.”

“Oh, so you’re pretty new to all of this?”

“Very much so.” She giggled.

Fisher took off his mask and sat up, visibly irritated.

“All right, really? Jenny – look, Tyson here wants to fuck you. Tyson – Jenny here wants to fuck you. I don’t know why, but she does. So why don’t you just cut the small talk bullshit and get in the lavatory already and stay there for a couple orgasms so I don’t have to hear this rather pathetic attempt at airplane courtship and get some shut-eye, kay?

TIME OUT!

“That’s right, I just pulled a Saved by the Bell. I froze everything, in order to give some sort of cheesy monologue based on the scenario.”

Fisher stares up at his companion in disbelief.

“Uh, dude?”

“It’s alright Brian, I’ll unfreeze you in a minute.”

Fisher closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Wow.”

“Normally I’d be pretty pissed off at Fisher, but we actually had this worked out before hand. We knew either of us could get Jenny in bed with us, but I called dibs first.”

A very disgusted look crosses Jenny’s face. “Excuse me?”

“Brian wasn’t even sleeping, he was faking it so it’d look like he was cranky and just stating the obvious, that way Jenny would just admit she wanted to fuck me, and we’d go back to a private area and I’d nail her like there was no tomorrow.”

Jenny’s eyes open wide and she stomps off towards the cockpit.

“Anyways, let’s see how this turns out for me.”

TIME IN!

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Fisher saus.

I look down at Fisher, then up towards a man with a badge on his lapel. It reads “Air Marshal.”

“Fuck.”

*.~.*

We landed in Vegas a few hours later and I was escorted off the plane to the terminal where I finally got released. Punishment? Banned and exiled from American Airlines, all for ” sexual harassment” towards Jenny. I don’t really know how she heard me, considering I’d frozen everything.

We left the airport and immediately headed to Caesar’s Palace to check into our room. Planet Hollywood was Fisher’s domain, but this was my party. I knew a few people so we got a pretty sweet room, complete with an open bar for the few days we were there.

I walked into the room first, followed by Fisher, who tossed his bags down in the corner of the room. It was nine at night – still to early to go clubbin’, so we decided to start with a few drinks in the room.

“Drink?” I asked Fisher.

“Rum and Coke – hold the Coke.”

I grabbed two glasses, filled one with rum on some ice and handed it to him. I turned back to the bar and started mixing myself a vodka tonic.

“You’re an idiot, man,” Fisher said. “Why the fuck would you think you could freeze everything just by putting your hands into a tee and saying time out?”

“Uh, it worked for Zack Morris?”

“Yeah, but see, Zack Morris was cool.”

“Whatever, man. How was I supposed to know it wouldn’t work?”

“Uh, because we’re not on TV?”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Well, we are, yeah, but not right this moment. I mean, if we were on TV, I could freeze everything because I’m the champion of television. But you can’t just go callin’ timeouts on an airplane like you’re Bobby Knight.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Lucky for you, Caldera was able to save your ass,” Fisher added.

“Fuck off man. Like you’ve never done anything stupid?”

Fisher snorted. “I was high for like six years, dude. What do you think?”

“Yea…well…I was high…”

“No, you weren’t.”

I turned back holding my drink and took a sip from the two small straws I’d put into it. Fisher looked at me in disbelief.

“Dude, seriously?”

I pursed my lips. “What?”

“Fuckin’ straws?”

“Whatever man, I’ll drink my drink how I do, and you drink yours how you do.”

“I’m not clubbin’ with you if you drink like that. People will think we’re gay.”

I shrugged. “That could help us get bitches, right?”

Fisher threw an ice cube at me and I laughed at him. “You silly ass!”

He charged me and tackled me onto the bed, playfully slapping at my face. I tickled him and flipped him underneath me, both of us laughing the entire time. Brian was such a great friend to me, I really was lucky to have him in my life. We always seemed to have such a great time togeth-

WHACK!

Fisher slapped me in the head.

“Dude. What. The. Fuck?”

“What?”

“You just drifted off into la-la land with some sort of gay smirk on your face.”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Right. My bad.”

“Seriously though. Don’t ever do that again. That was creepier than a Shaman promo.”

I nodded soberly.

“Anyways. Bitches. Tonight.” He emphasized the last word.

“Yeah, I know a few places. You want it really easy? Or you wanna head out to a club and see what we can score?”

He just looked at me.

“Right. Easy.”

I pulled out my phone and started flipping through contacts to find us some hot spots to go.

*.~.*

A little while later Fish and I walked into Rain, the music thumping, lights flashing and fog blowing all over the club. We were escorted to our table, where there was already a chilled bottle of champagne and a few glasses waiting for us. Also waiting: four women, two blondes and two brunettes, all in slinky outfits, practically overflowing out of their tops. I grinned at Fisher.

“You said you wanted easy, right?”

Fisher nodded.

“Well, there they are. Ready and waiting. Partially drunk as well. I had them liquored up before we got here.”

“You’re too good to me, man.”

“Eh, you’d do the same.”

Pause.

“Why is it that we always seem to get into these horribly bromantic situations lately?”

Fisher nods.

“Seriously. We need to stop that.”

“Hug on it?”

Fisher just eyes me.

“Oh, right.”

He shakes his head and turns his attention to the girls.

“So, please tell me you’re 17,” he said.

I sighed.

“I want to be your last first kiss.” – Anberlin

I’ve listened to this song over and over again. Heard the lyrics. Applied them to girls. Showed the song to different girlfriends, and prospective girlfriends, but tonight’s the first time I think I’ve ever really sat and thought about the weight of being someone’s “last first kiss.”

Think about it. You see a girl (or guy) across the room. She’s gorgeous. You can’t stop looking at her. Eventually you stir up the courage to go over and talk with her. If you’re lucky some flirtatious banter ensues. You might even get her number. Over the next few days you’ll text back and forth, and eventually set up an actual date. Then you have to go through the whole “awkward first date, have to make conversation and hope that you click with this new acquisition in your life” phase. Hopefully all goes well, and you’ll end up in the “first kiss” scenario. You know the one I’m talking about.

Sweaty palms, shifting your weight back and forth, waiting for the “go” signal. Your faces move closer to each other. You’re trying to figure out “does she want me to kiss her or not?” While she’s probably thinking “Why doesn’t he just kiss me already?”

And then of course the moment your lips meet. They say you can tell a lot about someone from the first kiss.

Uh. No kidding. That’s because you either SUCK at kissing, or you’re really good. Let’s face it. Initial attraction is all about the physical. Sure you might know a little bit about the person by this point, but you ask the girl out because: you think she’s hot. You pursue her because: you think she’s hot. You try to go in for the first kiss because: you think she’s hot.

And at this point you ask her out again because: the kiss was good. And you think she’s hot. The principle applies to both guys and girls. Girls have to accept the propositions just as much as the guy has to offer them.

Anyway, my point is that all of this for that first kiss feeling. And if you get to the point where you want to continue on, and it turns into something intellectual, emotional AND physical – then you’ve got something pretty special on your hands. But is it worth enough to you to set aside everyone else and stick with that one person for the rest of your life? Ideally you’d like to get to that point, right?

I’ve heard a lot of people get into the concept of “when you know, you know” and honestly it’s just never really clicked with me. I suppose you can argue the fact that it’s because I’m not married, nor am I close to being married at this point in my life. I just don’t know what to look for really I suppose. I have a compass, but it’s going in a million different directions.

I know I’ve been in scenarios where I’ve missed someone, or felt the pit in my stomach when I couldn’t be with them, or they were out with somewhere and you weren’t sure what they were doing. Had times where I’ve listened to countless love songs in the dark, thinking about “her.” When I’ve said the words “I love you” and really thought that I meant them. And yet here I am again…without my “last first kiss.”

Now, before we all start ripping into Mike for being “emo” or writing the obligatory rant about love, and how “I’m so sad because I don’t have that person in my life” yet, let me make it clear that this is NOT me saying that I cry myself to sleep each night over this. I’m sure it’ll come when it comes. I’m merely just trying to understand. More along the lines of “writing” out my thoughts, or word vomit.

I don’t even know if this all has come out in a way that makes sense, to be perfectly honest. Hooray for rambling off on tangents. This is what happens when Mike lets his iTunes play on random, and actually listens to the music whilst sitting in the dark.

Heightened senses FTW.

Not that many people are hockey fans. It’s not a game that has the popularity that American Football or Baseball has in the United States, or Football (Soccer) internationally. But for me personally, it’s life. And with the 2010 Olympics currently in full force in Vancouver right now, and more specifically the fact that it’s the Olympic time, and the hockey tournament is in full force, I’m going to write a post about Hockey.

Click away from the page right now if you’re already bored. I don’t care. Hockey = best sport ever.

Why you ask?

Ladies and gentleman, I give you my VERY FIRST INAUGURAL LIST BLOG!

I see people do these all the time, so, here is why I’ve been in love with hockey since I was like…a sperm. In no particular order:

1. It’s violent. I mean, c’mon. Seriously? How can you NOT like a bunch of grown ass men, absolutely obliterating each other on skates? And, fighting is part of the game?? SCORE!

2. Listening to commentators talk about men and their “sticks” is just hilarious to me. I mean, hearing “Ooooh, he just broke his stick on Zetterbergs leg” just makes me giggle hysterically.

3. It does involve a WHOLE lot of hand eye coordination. Which helps in a lot of aspects in life…*ahem*

4. My wrist muscles are fantastic. For…doing things with…my wrists….

5. Did I mention it has fighting? And it’s allowed?

6. It’s intense. You try having a solid rubber puck slapped at you at 90-100 mph.

7. It’s a full body work out. Like sex on ice.

8. Hockey fans are the best fans ever. Like, seriously. We’re rowdy, we’re loud, we’re obnoxious, and we LOVE OUR TEAMS.

9. We get our own Olympic medals. What other major sport can you think of that is also in the Olympics? Soccer? Nope. Football? Nope. Baseball? Nope. We win.

10. It’s so cool, even fucking BEARS can play. Don’t believe me? Fine.

I rest my case. Hockey FTW.

I officially hate writers block. I hate it so much so that I decided that it deserved it’s own post. I’m going to write as much as I possibly can about how much I loathe not being able to come up with anything creative to write. I’ve been staring at a blank screen all-weekend, and yet anytime I try to write anything, it just comes out looking repetitive, redundant, and the same.

SEE?!

My least favorite advice for how to overcome writers block?

“Just write.”

….WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I’M TRYING TO DO?! I suppose I’m a bit of a perfectionist, in the sense that I have a really hard time just writing “trash” pieces, with the logic of getting through to the good pieces. I have to sit in front of a computer and stare at a blank screen until I receive some inspiration.

American poet William Stafford offers this advice to poets who suffer from Writer’s Block:

“There is no such thing as writer’s block for writers whose standards are low enough.”

Low standards? I can do that. My entire life has been low standards. So why can’t I seem to write anything WITH low standards? Seriously, I can put off and procrastinate with the best of them. Hell, if there was an Olympic category for procrastinating, I’d take home the gold in a heartbeat. But when it comes to writing when I have writers block, it’s like I’m too scared to get off the starting block. And no, I’m not trying to use the word “block” all the time. It just happened.

Pretty much the only thing I’ve found that gets my juices flowing, is changing scenery. I’ve tried numerous exercises, and tips from other writers, and the only one that seems to work, is moving to the library, or if it’s a nice day out, heading over to a local park or something and clearing my head.

So I moved from the table, to the couch. Hasn’t really done much for me today, but it’s at least allowing me to watch the Olympics. So, that’s a good thing right?

Ok, so I’m going to stop rambling, post this, and then I want your help. What do YOU do when you get writers block? Do you read a book? Are there tips you can give me that aren’t “Just write” or anything like that?

Ready go.

And after a long and restless night of tumultuous thought, the anxious boy wakes to find that nothing has changed. He reaches out of the warmth and comfort of blankets, blindly grasping for the alarm that pierces through the silence of mourning. His eyes begin to adjust, and his stomach begins to burn all over again, reminding him that the pain has not yet subsided. He can hear her voice in his head, as he walks to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and take a piss. “I miss you too,” resonates through his thoughts, feeding his desire to somehow cut the connection from his brain to his heart.

Go through the motions of the day, a hollow version of himself that doesn’t seem to be able to feel anything. Numbly groping for any form of emotion to set him free from a prison of defense. Things don’t taste exactly the way they should, and colors aren’t as bright as they were. Senses are dulled, if only for a moment.

Breakfast. The spoon reaches his lips, filled with what the commercial market will tell you is full of vitamins, and things that will help you get strong. Lucky Charms. Sugar mixed with some sort of processed grain. Everything becomes fake if you let your mind work it over enough. Today is a day for cynics. Today is a day for skeptics. The hour of hope is dead. The hour of doubt is alive.

He heads down to the pond by his house, never stopping to change, or worry about the fact that it’s the middle of January, and he will probably catch pneumonia. Neck deep in water that is filled with all manner of contamination, he can feel his muscles begin to seize, and he shuts his eyes, wondering how long he can block everything out and still stay conscious. He lets the small ripples from his body movement lick against his chin. Then, blackness.

He can see his family, mostly the disappointment in their eyes. His friends, especially the ones that knew him so well, look on in despair. Some eyes are wet with tears, and others just blank stares. He can see people he knew for a short period of time, shaking their heads. Men talking to each other in the corner of the room, each conversing back and forth with grimaces playing at their mouths about how each of them were just waiting for this moment. Women in the opposite corner discussing how “good of a boy” he was, and how much they had hoped this moment wouldn’t come.

Then, something catches his eye.

Her.

She’s there, sitting alone on the front bench, tissues in hand. Her eyes are wet, but contain something different than anyone else in the room. She looks so beautiful, even in the depths of her sadness; her face is still the brightest thing in the room. He reaches out to touch her, but the closer he gets, the farther away he seems to go. He fights harder to get to her, and suddenly his throat constricts, and his chest feels like it’s filled with water.

Coughing and sputtering, his eyes flutter open to the same pond he had walked himself into, only now it’s in front of him. He’s on his side, washed up on the shore. Not dead. There is no funeral. No men in corners. No women with tear-stained eyes. And she is not there.

He stands, brushing himself off, and heads back into his apartment to dry off. “Maybe she’s still there,” he muses to himself. A smile crosses his lips, and for the first time that day, colors start to brighten, and he can taste the saltiness from the pond on his lips.

He hopes.

And the cycle starts over.

Those of you who know me, know that I think John Mayer is incredible. Don’t judge me. I don’t really care what you think of me. You can NOT deny the fact that the guy has incredible guitar skills. Don’t believe me? YouTube some of his live stuff. His voice has grown on me, and while “Battle Studies” is not his strongest work (which he’s even admitted) I still think the guy has talent oozing from his pores.

I just found out about Alexa.com today (shut it, so I’m a little behind on certain things), and have since started implementing it into my blog. What does this have to do with John Mayer you ask?

Sexual Napalm.

Yes. That’s one of the trending topics right now according to Alexa. Naturally I was all like “WTF is Sexual Napalm?” So of course I clicked on it. I mean, wouldn’t you?

Much to my surprise (and delight) I saw that the term originates from: John Mayer. It was regarding his recent interview with Playboy, which has apparently pissed off quite a few people. I’ll give you a couple clips that made me wet myself with glee.

Regarding Jessica Simpson in bed:

“Yeah, that girl is like crack cocaine to me. Sexually it was crazy. That’s all I’ll say. It was like napalm, sexual napalm.”

Oh, he’s not done yet folks:

“There are people in the world who have the power to change our values. Have you ever been with a girl who made you want to quit the rest of your life? Did you ever say, ‘I want to quit my life and just fuckin’ snort you? If you charged me $10,000 to fuck you, I would start selling all my shit just to keep fucking you.”

Ladies and Gentleman. Do we really need another reason to love this guy? I mean, c’mon. That’s brilliantly said. Or, maybe I’m just deranged. Or both.

Now, on the note of people in the world who have the power to change our values. I think he has a point. Despite it being about snorting a woman like cocaine, or being able to fuck her, the principle remains. How many times have you said to a friend “Dude, I’d be gay for *insert celebrity here*” or done the “5 people I could have sex with even though we’re in a relationship” game with a girl?

Why is it that celebrities have such an effect on our psyche? They’re just people, who get talked about a lot more than us. Right?

Am I just out on a limb here? Or am I onto something?

I’m not political. I don’t have many opinions on a lot of things that involve our President, I basically just shut my eyes and hope to God that he doesn’t get our country blown up.

But this, was funny. I mean, c’mon. Good ole’ Dubya looming over your heads? That’s pretty fantastic.

Let the political comment war begin!

Anyone who knows me understands how attached I am to my laptop. It’s pretty much like another appendage. So needless to say, if said appendage were to ever break, it’d be like putting my entire left arm in a cast. Semi-pathetic, I know, but it’s really true. Most everything I do is on a computer, so it’s essentially a necessity.

I’ve always been a computer kid, but when I got to use one of my ex’s Mac Books for a couple weeks I fell in love. I loved the sleek interface, the speed that it always seemed to have no matter how many applications I had running, and the organizational ability. I had to have one.

Eventually I got one of my own, and I was like a kid in a candy shop. My laptop and I did EVERYTHING together. We played games, we listened to music, we watched movies, and TV shows, we wrote stories and blog entries…we were practically inseparable for over a year.

Then, one day, I opened up my laptop and pressed the power button, and all I got was a small spinning “gear” looking graphic, and a gray screen. And that’s it. I panicked. I tried everything. I tried rebooting it, hard booting it, looking through everything I could possibly come up with in my feeble, wannabe techie brain. Eventually I gave up, defeated. I couldn’t get my laptop to boot up.

I decided that the best course of action was taking it to the Mac Store. I was a bit disheartened, because I didn’t have enough money to replace a hard-drive, which is what I figured it was going to be. And, I didn’t get the Apple Care Warranty on my computer either, so I feared the worst.

I walked into the Mac Store at the Fashion Valley Mall in Mission Valley San Diego, and was greeted instantly by one of the employees who noticed that I was carrying my laptop. He helped me make an appointment at the Genius bar. After that, I paced around the store looking at various programs that were way out of my price range, ogling all the shiny new laptops, and desktops, IPods and iPhones, coveting each and every little morsel of electronic bliss. Eventually, my name was called and I walked up to Jason, the genius who was going to help me.

I gave him my laptop, and he plugged it into a few different things, and eventually diagnosed exactly what I’d feared. My hard-drive was fried.

My heart sank. I didn’t have the money to replace a hard-drive. He asked what I’d like to do, and I told him I really didn’t have any other option than to just wait until I could afford it. I’m not really sure if he could see something in my countenance, but he held up his finger and told me to wait for a moment. He walked into the back for a few minutes, then came out and told me that he’d just go ahead and “pretend” I had the warranty on my computer, and replace it for free, and even told me he would replace the crack in the keyboard that I got months previous from setting it down a little bit too hard.

I stared at him for a minute, and asked why he was going to do it all for free for me. His reply:

“You look like you’ve had a shitty day, so, I figured I’d try and help out.”

I gave him my broken laptop, and a couple hours later, it was returned to my possession, 100% functional. Sure, I had to get all my programs back again, but honestly I was just happy to have gotten it fixed for free. Jason pretty much saved my ass. All this entire experience did for me was reinforce my loyalty to Apple. He didn’t have to fix it for me, he could have just turned me away because I didn’t have a way to pay, but he didn’t.

I grew up with a father who taught me to always, always, always appreciate good customer service. To the point of driving five miles further down the road past an establishment with the exact same name, just because we know we’d be treated better at the one further away.

I’d drive to San Diego if my laptop broke again.

Bravo Apple. Bravo.

I made myself a fan page on facebook. Because I’m just cool like that.

The most awesome thing since sliced bread.

Now. All of you please go click the little fan button, then whore me out to your friends on Facebook so I can become super popular in life. I was a nerd in high school, so this is really my way of getting back at all the bastards back then who thought I was a loser.

I’LL SHOW YOU WITH MY LOVE OF WORDS!! *fist-shake*

And no. This will not be anti-productive. So fuck you for thinking so.