Technical Support

One of Roadchick's friends called her the other day and asked her to come over. It seems that the friend had gotten a new laptop and printer for her job and for some reason, she could not get anything to print.

There were promises of coffee and breakfast and Roadchick happily agreed.

This morning, Roadchick made the drive to her friend's house. Upon arrival, the 'chick offered to work on the printing problem while her friend cooked breakfast.

Armed with a cup of coffee that said "Professional Smartass", the 'chick headed down the hall to the office. (It's always nice to get a personalized coffee cup.) The laptop was a shiny, new Dell and the printer was also shiny and new and some name brand that the 'chick no longer remembers. Anyway.

The 'chick powered up the laptop and plugged the printer's USB cable into the side of the laptop. She opened up the Control Panel and opened up the Printer folder. A few clickity-clicks of the mouse later, she waited for the test page to print. There was no test page forthcoming.

So, a test document in Notepad. Nothing printed.

The 'chick double-checked that the printer was powered up and the other end of the USB cable was connected to the printer. Everything was a-ok.

The 'chick switched the cable from the bottom USB port to the top one.

Things started to print.

The 'chick's friend heard the printer running and came into the office to find out how the 'chick pulled off this miracle of technology.

"Well, it's pretty simple, really. Think of the USB ports as a part of the female anatomy and the USB cable as a part of the male anatomy. Once the female gets used to the cable being inserted into one port, she may not be so eager to change to a . . .lower port."

Friend thought about this for a minute and then said:
"Oh, well, that explains it. My son set everything up and then couldn't remember where everything went."

"It would help if the computer had a little, soft voice going 'That's not it. A little bit higher.'"

Sex and computers.

And a hot breakfast afterward.

Overheard:

"My client is on sharps restriction. All knives and forks and sharps have to be locked up. But, he's really fun except for the stabbing."

There are days that the 'chick just loves what she does for a living.

Blow Pop Month

Once a year, in the fabled land of Blogistan, some of the residents gather to participate in this thing they call Blow Pop or some such thing. The 'chick can never remember all the letters that go into the name, so Blow Pop Month is darned close.

Blow Pop Month, for those of you not "in the know", is a 30 day writing exercise where one swears (upon threat of painful, excruciating humiliation and possible death) to post an entry to one's blog each day during the month of November. Thanksgiving coma is not an excuse for missing a day. Black Friday is not an excuse for missing a day. Being stuck in the Denver airport on blizzard stand-by is not an excuse for missing a day. YOU MUST POST.

The citizens that participate in this writing exercise are much like marathon runners in the Real World. They train. They practice. They get pumped up and psyched up and there is much chest-thumping before the race starts.

The 'chick sits back in awe and watches, admiring these hardy souls. Considering that her posting is less than punctual and not on any sort of schedule at all, she would be a brilliant loss at this exercise.

But, here's to you, Mr.(Or Ms.)-Post-A-Day-For-Blow-Pop-Month. May you go long and be funny. May you not run out of material or steam before the home stretch. The 'chick bows in awe to your. . . awesomeness.

Long Live Blow Pop Month.