A mom drops off a gaming PC. Allegedly, her son has been complaining about it overheating and she’s decided to see what can be done about it as a surprise for his birthday, meaning she removed the PC from the house without his knowledge. Remember that.

This is in the summer, so overheating cases are common, and most PCs only require some quick treatment with our air gun. However, when the tech examines this one, she has concerns about the power supply, so she accepts the computer for repair with apologies, explaining that, due to our current traffic, it will be a number of days before it even makes it to the bench.

The customer seems displeased by this but accepts the tech’s explanation and quote, clearing us to do the work.

We assume that she told her son about this as he began to call the shop every… single… day. He calls every day, multiple times a day, asking if we have started work on his PC.

Eventually, the technician, who happens to be the owner’s daughter, gets fed up with it and gets permission from her father to deal with the computer and get it out of our shop.

As soon as she pops the side panel off, we find out why this kid has been calling us so incessantly.

Apparently, when his PC is off while he is at school or work or whatever he does (I don’t know his age) he uses the PC case to hide his weed as neither parent is the type to open up a computer.

Now, this isn’t the cause of the overheating problem, but it is the cause of a new legal dilemma, as this is 2009 and marijuana legalization hasn’t begun anywhere yet.

In the end, the owner of the shop decides to call the mother and bring her down to the store where he explains to her exactly why we have to reject the repair, giving her the chance to handle the issue without police involvement. 

I’m not sure what the conversation came down to, but in the end, that PC ended up in our “scrap for parts” pile and never saw the light of day again.

I work in a small family-owned computer repair store in my hometown. A man walks into the shop with a PC.

Customer: “It doesn’t turn on.”

Our tech offers to do a diagnostic on the machine for a small fee, but the owner turns her down.

Customer: “I need it working so I can retrieve some pictures. Please do whatever you need to do to make that happen.”

After we clarify with the customer that we have his permission to start work with no parameters and have him sign the necessary documentation, he leaves and the PC goes to the back.

We are in a bit of a dead season for repairs, so the tech happily starts work on the computer immediately while I continue my duties of cleaning up the shop.

Tech #1: “Can you bring the air gun down? I think we’ll need it.”

Tech #2: “Mmmhmmm.”

Tech #1: “All right, he stated that it doesn’t turn on at all, so I’m going to start with the power supply.”

Tech #2: “All right.”

As soon as they removed the side panel of the computer, all I could hear was screaming, and that isn’t a normal thing from either of the technicians on duty. These are computer repair techs; they have seen some very strange and concerning things on people’s computers.

I immediately moved to the shop to find spiders, spiders everywhere, hundreds of spiders crawling out of this PC sitting on the work bench.

The lead tech grabbed a trash bag, enveloped the entire PC in it, spiders and all, tied it shut, and literally pitched the machine out the front door where it hit the ground with a loud DUNK! and slid into the bushes of the mall.

The technician then called the customer on the phone and explained what had happened and where he could find his PC if he wanted it back. She also offered a free hard drive recovery and backup should he bring the PC back minus its eight-legged tenants so he could have his photos.

Apparently, the pictures weren’t all that important because, after we retrieved the machine and set it nicely outside the shop for pickup, it sat there for several days before disappearing.

I used to work at a hole-in-the-wall retail computer repair shop in a not-so-good part of town. I’d frequently get customers who had outlandish requests and even more outlandish complaints.

I made sure to post printouts with info about all of our services on the wall next to the register in an attempt to ward off complaints and questions. This included prices, payment types accepted, etc.

Me: “Your total is $84.02.”

Customer: “What?! You said it would be $79!”

Me: “Yes, $79 with sales tax, which is $84.02.”

Customer: “Where does it say that there’s tax?!”

I indicated the prominent “plus tax” on the invoice.

Me: “It’s printed right here on the paper.”

Customer: “How was I supposed to know that there’s sales tax?!”

I pointed to the poster next to the register.

Me: “State sales tax info, right here. The number on the bottom is for the Connecticut General Assembly if you would like to complain.”

The customer could only grumble for the rest of the transaction. He didn’t expect me to have that info on-hand and displayed prominently!

I’m a teenager in this story. My laptop has a persistent hardware issue; every time I get it repaired, the issue gradually recurs over the course of several months, starting as an annoyance and eventually rendering the computer unusable.

I’ve noticed the problem starting again and have decided to be proactive about it for once. I don’t want to send the computer back to the manufacturer, wait several weeks, and get my hard drive wiped, so I start looking for other options. I learn that a nearby major retailer with a good reputation has a repair service that will even work on computers they didn’t sell.

Since I’m not driving yet, I ask my mom to take me there. We’re standing in line when Mom decides to start eavesdropping. An employee is talking to a customer several places ahead of us.

Employee: “That will be $200.”

Mom: “That’s way too much! We’re not getting your computer fixed here.”

Me: “But Mom, we don’t even know what the other customer got done! Shouldn’t we at least find out what they’d charge me for my problem?”

Mom: “No, we’re going to look somewhere else.”

We leave the store and start driving around town. Mom spots a building by the side of the road with a sign saying, “We repair computers/phones/tablets.” She pulls into their parking lot.

Me: “I don’t like this. I never even heard of this place, and it looks kind of sketchy.”

Mom: “Let’s at least talk to them and then you can decide what to do.”

We get out of the car and go into the shop. Mom seems inexplicably excited to learn that it’s run by a couple of guys who recently graduated from the local university. Granted, we both went there, too, but it’s a BIG school. It’s not like we know these guys.

Mom: “Can you help my daughter? Her computer isn’t charging right.”

Repair Guy: “Sure, show us the computer.”

I left the computer in the car because it was heavy, so Mom gives me her keys and tells me to go get it. I’m gone for maybe five minutes, if that. When I get back inside, the repair guy and my mom are in the middle of a conversation.

Repair Guy: “So, it’s $190, and you can pick it up in a week.”

First of all, that’s almost exactly the amount Mom said was too much, and second of all, wasn’t I supposed to have a say in this? Or at least a minute to talk to the repair guys about what’s actually wrong? I’m about to point out all of these issues when Mom shoots me a “Shut up” look.

Mom: “That sounds good! [My Name], give them the computer.”

I really didn’t have a good feeling about this, but it’s rarely worth the trouble to argue with Mom, so I handed over the computer and we left.

On the ride home, Mom proudly told me how, while I was outside and unable to participate in the conversation, she “explained” to the repair guys what was wrong with the computer. Of course, since she didn’t use it herself, she left out a couple of important symptoms.

A week later, we picked up the computer. To their credit, the repair guys had at least finished on time, and the computer did work when I picked it up. They claimed that they’d found the underlying cause of the problem and the computer should work fine now.

The problem recurred in two weeks and I was never able to get the computer to work properly again. I was now out the cost of a new laptop PLUS two hundred dollars.

I didn’t complain to the repair shop because it may not have been their fault. I have no idea what my mother, convinced she knew what she was talking about, actually told them. Of course, I’ve never been able to convince her that any part of this is her fault, either.

I’m a female working in a tech shop, repairing computers. A woman comes in dressed head-to-toe in black with a long skirt and a large cross necklace.

Me: “Hello! How may I help you?”

Customer: *Scowls* “I want you to fix my computer right now, missy! And do it for cheap!”

Me: “Okay, let’s take a look here.”

I open the browser and immediately see multiple pop-up ads for different things, including adult websites, gaming, and so on.

Me: “Okay, it looks like you’ve been going to [Religious Website] every day.”

Customer: *Scoffs* “Yes.”

Me: “Well, that site has a bunch of malware. I personally prefer—”

Customer: “You little heathen! How dare you say that [Religious Website] is contaminated?! You’re probably a devil worshipper!”

Me: “No, actually, I go to church every Sunday. It’s just that you can’t always trust certain religious websites, and this is one of them. I personally prefer [Different Website] because it has no malware. The way you can tell if it’s got malware is by—”

Customer: “SHUT THE F*** UP! I don’t care about your hip new website. I want you to fix this one!”

Me: “Okay, first of all, watch your language. There are kids here. Secondly, I don’t control what goes on the Internet. You need to stop going to this website. I can clean out your computer for [price], or you can do it yourself and I can walk you through it. Or you can buy a new laptop altogether, which would probably be best, based on the amount of crap on here. I will not tolerate you cursing at me and calling me names. I am a Christian and I go to church every Sunday morning with my parents.”

Customer: “I WANT TO SPEAK TO ONE OF THE MEN, RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “Of course.”

I found my supervisor and warned him about her. He looked furious, and I thought I was in trouble for a second, but he went straight to the woman and told her to watch her mouth or he’d throw her out. He said the same thing I said about cleaning out the computer.

She finally agreed and paid in cash, muttering about how I was a female dog and the church hated witches like me. My boss cleaned her computer and told her not to return unless she planned on being nice.

She hasn’t been back since.