Originally published April 6, 2012

                “The unit your company sent me is not what I requested, and you need to send someone to pick it up right now!”  Jim barked at the woman on the videoscreen. 

                “One moment, please.”  Came the response from the company representative.  She put on a sympathetic face before turning her head at an angle to something off-camera.  While many people found the nearly-perfect faces of Gooplezonsoft employees unnerving, Jim had long grown accustomed to their uncanny appearance.

                After examining something off-screen for a few moments, the customer representative looked back at Jim and spoke: “According to our records, sir, a ST-8-CI Type-W unit was sent to your address.  Can you verify that you received a model ST-8-CI Type-W?” she asked.

                “Yeah, that’s what I got, but my unit was a Type-E and I should have gotten another Type-E back!” Jim said. 

                The customer service woman was unmoved by Jim’s emotional state.  “Sir, we are required to send you a replacement unit that has the same functionality as the damaged unit you returned to us for repair.  Your service agreement states that we are allowed to send you a similar model if an identical replacement unit is not available,” she replied flatly.  “The Model ST-8-CI Type-W is capable of performing all of the functions of the Type-E.”

                Jim tried to relax.  “I know, Miss, but I would really rather have a Type-E, if you can check-”

                “As I told you earlier, sir, there are no ST-8-CI Type-E units currently available.”  The woman said before Jim could finish his sentence.  Jim noted that even though Gooplezonsoft’s employees were efficient, they could be downright rude at times. “The Type-W unit will serve your needs until your Type-E is repaired and returned you in…” she turned to look off-screen again: “nine days.”

                “Okay.  Fine.  Thank you.” Jim said before abruptly pressing the red button on the bottom of the screen to end the call.  Among the morass of packing material, papers, cables and empty pizza boxes that lay on Jim’s living room floor was a large metal key.  Jim picked it up off the floor and walked around the back of the ST-8-CI.

                “Crap.  I never thought I’d have to do this again.” Jim muttered to himself.  He inserted the wind-up key into the synthetic woman’s back and began to turn it.