Norton ... It's all sorted

The solution to my problem was found today, not surprisingly, by the use of tolerance and patience. Perseverance. And an open heart. I'm ashamed of the way I behaved yesterday.

I was just home today from a very relaxing afternoon spent with my friend, Frankie. She and I had a picnic lunch by the lake and then we went to see Girl Alex in a play at G.A's school. The lunch was delicious, the weather, bonny, and the play brilliant. Confusing and weird, Ms J. But brilliant. I always enjoy watching my young friend on stage. She has mononucleosis, poor thing. She's been so fatigued lately, but she put on a brave face and performed like a trouper.

So I arrived home in a jolly mood.

"Now'd be a good time to call the Symantec people," I said as I hung my cane by the banister and headed up the stairs to the computer. "I don't want to do this, but I have to. I wish I didn't hate them so much. Maybe I'm anti-Symantec."

I smiled at my pun as I dialed the toll-free number.

After going round four or five times pressing 3 for this and 5 for that and sometimes ending up where I'd started, I finally spoke to a real person. His name was unintelligible and he spoke as though he had a mouthful of marbles. I resolved to stick with him and endure whatever misery was necessary in order to resolve my problem. I had paid good money for a subscription renewal and I was determined to get what I'd paid for. I strained hard to decipher his thick accent and thought of Anvilcloud and his "poor ears". If he could concentrate and do this, so could I. I closed my eyes and opened my heart.

He took my information again. I gave it all patiently. Name. Address. "Zip code." I explained that we don't have zip codes in Canada. We call them postal codes. Then he took me through the procedure to enter the subscription key into my Norton software. I followed his instructions. Slowly, carefully. One sentence at a time. Sometimes one letter or number at a time. When I couldn't understand what he said, I asked him gently to repeat it. I spoke slowly and clearly.

I tried to picture the man at the other end of the phone. He was wearing a long, white cotton shirt - like a night shirt. His skin was the colour of dried tobacco. No turban. Hair, black and greasy.

"I've done all of this before, my friend," I explained. "I keep getting the same error message."

He lead me to the customer support pages of Symantec's website. Together we surfed that sea of hopelessness and just as I was beginning to consider surrendering, he put me on hold.

He was back in two minutes.

"Dale? Can I call you Dale?"

I nodded my head for a second before I remembered to respond verbally.

"Yes. Yes, you can call me Dale. I prefer that, my friend. What did you find out while I was on hold?"

"Dale?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are patient man, Dale. Thank you for being so kind to me. I have many, many angry customers. You are not angry. You are nice man."

He was smiling, Ms J. Smiling. I could hear it. So I smiled back. It felt really good. I spoke slowly again.

"You're quite welcome. It's much better this way, isn't it?"

I was thinking of my stress and anger yesterday. I wanted to apologise to the poor man to whom I was so disrespectful.

"Yes, it is," he said. "Much better."

He had a new subscription key to give me. Apparently, the numbered code I'd been sent was not applicable to my version of software. I entered the new number and the problem was solved. Just like that.

"Thank you so much for your help," I told him. "If I could, I would come to India and hug you."

He was laughing when he replied.

"Thank you, Dale. You are very nice man. You are bringing me happy."

So there you have it, Ms Journal. What a perfectly brilliant day I've had! A picnic lunch with Frankie. Girl Alex on stage at school. My Norton subscription renewed successfully. And I have a new friend. In India. Isn't that the best part?

Karma. "As you sow, so shall you reap." I feel really good right now. I think that man brought me happy too.

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