Service Call

When the doorbell buzzed at 1:00 p.m. exactly, Eric blinked in surprise. He was expecting a service call, and the rep had told him the technician would arrive at 1:00 p.m., but Eric had never known a service person to arrive on time. When he opened the door, he blinked into the face of the visitor with stunned incomprehension.

The man at the door was huge, 6 foot 4 if he was an inch. He was a burly sort, his thick arms ending in meaty paws that were stained almost black with some unknown substance. His bulk strained against the grimy jumpsuit it had poured into. The nametag sewn above his left breast identified him as Vince. "I'm from Data Doctors," he said. "Where's the PC?" Without waiting for an answer, he strode into the room.

Eric scrambled into action and led Vince to the study where the PC was housed. "No offense," he stammered, "but you don't look like a computer technician." Vince stopped in mid-stride. He turned and stared at Eric. Finally, he pulled a pocket protector from the toolbox that swung from his right hand and slipped it into his left breast pocket. "Feel better now?" he said, the irritation evident in his voice.

Eric decided to change the subject. "The computer is on the desk in the study. I don't know what's wrong with it. It's been running very slowly lately, and it makes all these awful sounds, like it was growling at me." Eric noticed the sudden quizzical look that appeared on Vince's face. He laughed nervously. "I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but that's what it sounds like."

Vince stepped in front of the PC. He turned it on and listened carefully. Immediately, the computer began to emit a series of odd noises. To Eric, they sounded like a surly old man grumbling through a throat full of phlegm. "Yeah, I figured as much," Vince said. "Listen, can I run a diagnostic on this thing?" Eric nodded, and Vince pulled a disc from his toolbox and popped it into the PC. It began to run, slowly at first, and then picked up speed. Eric watched as the monitor began to flicker rapidly. Soon, it flashed with the speed and intensity of a strobe light, and Eric found himself thinking of the unwitting children who had experienced seizures while watching pokemon cartoons. Finally, the monitor settled back to black. Vince peered at the screen and nodded. "Just as I thought," he said. Your PC is full of hate."

Eric blinked. "It's full of …hate?"

"Sure is," said Vince. "Take a look at the monitor."

Eric looked at the screen where the results of the diagnostic were now displayed. On it, he saw a happy little devil capering gleefully. "I don't understand."

"I don't see why it's so confusing," said Vince. "Take a look at these sites you've been visiting."

Eric gulped and began to stammer. "Listen, hey, I can explain those. Sometimes a guy gets lonely, and-"

Vince cut him off. "I'm not talking about those sites. In fact, I'd prefer we never, ever mention them again, if it's all the same to you. I'm talking about all of these blogs and stuff. These things are loaded with hate. All of those negative user comments, all of those flame wars, all of that pre-school name calling, that's pure unadulterated hate and it's ruining your performance."

Eric stared at the technician. "I am soooooo lost right now," he muttered.

Vince sighed. "Look," he said, "it's very simple. There's a lot of hatred and negativity out there on the web. As you come into contact with it, it accumulates in your hard drive. If you don't clean it out, it manifests itself physically and it gunks up your machine. Lemme show you."

With that, the man powered down the tower and removed the casing. In a flash, he had removed the hard drive from the unit. He reached into his toolbox and brought out a jar with bright yellow labels covering its face. Before Eric could vocalize his unease, Vince had opened the hard drive and turned it upside down over the jar. Instantly, a foul smelling black sludge poured out of the drive and settled into the jar. "What the hell is that stuff?" Eric asked.

"I already told you,' said Vince. "It's the physical manifestation of hate. Nasty stuff, too." Eric watched the sludge slowly fill the jar. "This isn't possible," he said quietly. The web is just a series of electronic impulses. How can it turn into that….goo?"

"Beats me," said Vince. "I leave the metaphysics for the geniuses. I just clean up after everyone." He finished draining the drive and set it onto a yellow cloth. He capped the lid on the jar and sealed it in a lead lined canister which he then secured in his tool chest. Next, he pulled a strange looking box from his tool chest and gingerly placed the hard drive inside. He pressed a button on the side and Eric heard a soft hum. A blue glow emanated from inside the box.

"I'm just decontaminating the hard drive," said Vince. "I'm nearly done here. In the meantime, I'll just advise you to stay away from most blogs, political party websites and YouTube. You wouldn't believe the level of hate in the comment section. It's also a good idea to spend time visiting cute sites. The sweetness eats away at the hate on your machine, kinda like that oil-eating bacteria thy use to clean up spills. I'd recommend at least two hours a day on the Hello Kitty website."

"Seriously?" said Eric. "Two hours?"

"Hey, it's your choice," said Vince. The box had finished its work and he was reassembling the tower as he spoke. "It's either that, or you can invest in an anger management pump for your system, but those babies are really pricey. Plus, you'll have to become licensed to handle the accumulated hate."

"What do you mean, licensed?" asked Eric.

"Listen," said Vince. "That concentrated hate is a biohazard and it needs to be handled carefully. You wouldn't believe the lengths we go to when we dispose of this stuff. Some companies just dump it in the river, or worse yet, they sell it on the black market."

Eric was shaking his head in disbelief. "You mean there's a market for this stuff?"

"Of course," Vince said. "The republican party buys a lot, and so does Fred Phelps." He packed up his tool chest and stood up. "Well, that should do it. Remember what I said about sites to avoid, and be sure to surf responsibly!" In a flash, the man was gone.

Eric moved to the terminal. The computer was up and running silently. All traces of the phlegmy growl were gone. He tried to grasp what had happened. The whole thing had been so surreal. It had to be a scam of some sort. He didn't believe a word of it.

Nevertheless, he didn't hesitate at all as he punched in www.sanrio.com.