The Helpdesk's Prayer

There I sat and surfed the net,
Cool info glazed my eyes.
Soon a caller will be asking,
A who and how and two more whys.

Who is this and how is that?
And why did I just call?
"Your computer is locked up," I say,
"Your screen is just too small."

The mouse is fast, the program slow,
I sure wish that you would hurry.
You've waited till the very last moment,
To invoice Mister Curry.

And sure enough my phone did warble,
A voice on the line did mutter.
That's the ring you get these days,
"My computer just won't sputter."

I quiz them on just what it did,
And what it warned them of.
They say it crashed and beeped at them.
This push could come to shove.

The dang blame thing, just whirs and spins,
My modem makes a speech.
I hear the darn thing dialing,
Then nothing - not one screech.

The silence on the line is long,
The lack of sound sure sweet.
I finally ask them to reboot,
Or was it to refeet?

No matter.

They listen when they want to,
And click on things they see.
Question you on this or that,
I wonder, "Lord why me?"

"His living depends on PCs," He says,
As I'm about to slip into a slumber.
And just before I fall asleep, God says,
"You've got the help line number!"

[ (c) 2001 RD Gammon -- from Jeff Nickerson ]


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