Mr Computer Cleaner Ch. 01

This is a story of seven chapters set in a small city in New Zealand. The hero has an odd name, the reason for which is explained as Dio takes his less than a smooth journey into adulthood. He falls into an usual occupation that connects him to an assortment of offbeat characters and the reader will learn that Dio enjoys a life richer in many ways than most people around him. It is hinted but only hinted when he's between girlfriends two married females from schooldays are 'available' and a couple of brief encounters with other women are described. Dio is between girlfriends when he meets a damsel in distress on the roadside; her mother's car has a puncture. Dio helps out and the twenty year old Carra and Dio gradually come together in every way, merging two different life-styles. Before too long they will marry.

*

Dio Wellington's mother Nancy operated her small business from her home and died while receiving conventional medical treatment in hospital. For a while it was rumored that she had poisoned herself experimenting with a home-made remedy.

"Your mother was just unfortunate," Dio was told at the hospital when retrieving his mother's possessions. "Surgeons sometimes have a bad day on Mondays."

Dio was relieved the cause of death was medical misadventure rather than cancer; his mother had feared dying of cancer. Unfortunately she wasn't around to enjoy hearing that explanation.

Nancy was buried after a small service at the cemetery chapel attended by six people but not her long estranged husband. An hour after sadly returning home to an empty house Dio answered a knock on the door to two serious-faced police constables who asked if they could enter and talk to him.

After confirming Dio's identity, the woman constable, identified herself as Eve Burgess and gently advised him that his father had died. She reported that Owen Stanley Wellington had fallen down some steps when leaving a building near his home in Dunedin, dying instantly from head inquiries. There were no suspicious circumstances as there had been four witnesses, two of them passers-by.

So Dio traveled south to Dunedin to attend the burial of his second parent in the same week, giving deep meaning to the expression, "I'm having a bad week." He coped stoically.

Death certificates show that Mrs Nancy Lydia Wellington died during surgery of uncontrollable hemorrhaging while Mr Owen Wellington died after accidentally falling down concrete steps (of a brothel, the funeral director told Dio) headlong into a concrete street pole.

When the affairs of his parents settled, Dio was left in possession of his mom's modest home and $3212.00 as well as the need to clear debts against his father's estate totaling $1203.07.

Dio's run a bad luck continued when later the next month he was made redundant for the third time in four years, a rather depressing outcome for a thirty-two year old. But when you're down like that, the only way forward is upwards, and so it came to be.

"These are depressing times," he sighed aloud, watching birds in the overhanging tree. He was lounging outdoors at sunset on the terrace at the rear of his house – which he would continue calling his mother's house.

He decided to play some lively music to chase away his blues, choosing one of his mother's favorite CDs, 'The Beach Boys' Greatest Hits'.

A telephone call ended his loneliness. It was a girlfriend Louise, who said Frank was about to cook a barbecue and they would like him to join them. "Come on Dio," Louise pleaded. "If you stay by yourself you'll start moping."

"Who me? Get away with you, I'm fine," he lied.

"I'm cooking a roast on so I'll just scoff that, watch a bit of TV and have an early night. I'll call to see you at the restaurant later in the week. Bye." He disconnected before Louise began telling him she wouldn't take no for an answer; Louise was a bit like that.

Dio pulled out a pizza from the freezer and turned the oven to fan-bake. So, there was no roast; had he lied again?

"It's a roast pizza," he grinned.

Dio, who'd entered employment with a bank as a trainee in IT (information technology), loved the work but hated the establishment. The bank branch was structured and operated somewhat like a high school for adults. So after two years he left to join the IT department of the town's biggest insurance office and three years later moved to an accountant's office to run the partnership's IT system. That activity and the work environment proved to be as boring as the bank so he moved to similar positions, yielding to two to three year migratory urges. This placed him with a trucking firm, a rural veterinarian practice then his old high school.

This cycle of drifting appeared to break when he was head-hunted to set up a Helpdesk for a huge retail discount warehouse that had decided to sell computers and peripherals. Setting up the desk and helping to educated staff to handle computer sales enquiries were new challenges, but then once the personnel were all trained the Helpdesk calls dwindled. At that point Dio realized that his role in that company had run its course so his 'termination' notice did not come as a surprise.

Something will turn up, thought Dio, entering the bank where he used to work to deposit his redundancy check. Perhaps he should reconsider his career path? He had no idea where to start.

Two minutes later his mind had worked it out for him: To avoid the disheartening frequency of redundancies in the dog-eat-dog unstable computer industry, he'd set up in the business himself. He would specialize in home visits rather than compete head-on with company computer telephone support operators.

Two blocks down Main Street Dio turned into the inaptly named Cathedral Street (the town never had possessed such a lofty place of worship) and entered the offices of theTown & Country Messenger. He lodged an advertisement to run under Work Wanted section:

Require help with your home computer? Phone Dio Helpdesk, 22 7251.

A week went by, with no calls for help. He checked the phone number in the advertisement; it was correct. So he reworded his advertisement:

Expert technician will solve your home computing problems. Phone Dio Helpdesk, 22 7251.

Again no calls, not even unproductive enquiries.

Experiencing a sag in confidence, he looked up newspaper advertisements for companies wanting Helpdesk technicians. The only company advertising was the company that had taken over one of the businesses he'd formerly worked for and then had declared him and his team-mates redundant. It was unlikely the company would re-employ a worker it had made redundant, so he was at a dead-end. The only thing to do was to go out and have a good time.

* * *

Dio was a good looking, square-shouldered and even-tempered man standing six-one tall. Just the kind of young man for a girl to bring home to mother to appraise, but surprisingly that simply had not happened because of the insidious reputation of Dio's mum.

As an herbalist, Dio's mother Nancy had specialized in consulting with male patients. She named her only child after the Greek herbalist Pedanius Dioscorides (circa 40-90 AD) – the father of pharmacy. The youngster was unable to pronounce his own name Dioscorides so Nancy shortened it, much to the relief of everyone including herself and her wayward husband.

"My Dio will make an ideal husband," his mother often said. To her regret, in her time no woman came to that same conclusion. Yet the rather handsome bachelor had little trouble finding dates. Mostly they were married women around his age or females of various ages who either had difficulty finding dates or, alternatively, while being attractively sunny and well-featured were between dates with 'real men'.

On this particular evening on his dead-end day he was buying gin and tonics for Sarisha Sharma, a lovely woman of part-Indian descent who was a taxi owner-driver. She possesses an incredible smile. During the evening Sarisha's smile transformed into a frown as she complained about the amount of 'filth' that was coming on to her home computer as unsolicited e-mails.

"Why would I want to extend my penis by up to four inches?" she complained.

Dio had no idea.

"And why are people on the web so keen to sell me Viagra? I don't want it and sure as hell my husband doesn't need it – no way!"

Again he had no idea and switched the conversation to the old days when they used to go skinny dipping.

Sarisha was strong on nostalgia and with the gins lightening her load, she cheered Dio by suggesting, "We must go skinny dipping again this coming summer – just you and me on a beautiful clear evening."

Sarisha drove Dio to his home, kissed him passionately, and drove off at a steady twenty miles an hour. That was her way of attempting to avoid being stopped by police patrols for speeding and asked to take an alcohol breath-test.

As many people are aware, casual conversations occasionally turn over little gems. Dio was certainly aware of this and believed that chatting with his old girlfriend that evening turned over a gold nugget for him.

He walked into his home, thinking about Sarisha's reaction to spam. A few minutes later he sat on the kitchen bench and drafted a new advertisement. Next morning he phoned it to the newspaper:

Hire me purge disgusting filth from your computer. Phone Dio, Mr Computer Cleaner, 22 7251.

Bingo! His advertisement was published the next morning and soon he was swamped with calls.

After two hours Dio was in danger of developing writer's cramp, from noting details of nineteen calls for help. After that incoming calls were recorded.

Dio brightly decided that when he found it necessary to re-run that ad he'd provide his email address rather than his phone number to make the administration more manageable.

Dio designed an A3 landscape sign on his computer and took the file to Jenny's Art Shop. One of Jenny's assistants printed out two copies on white adhesive-backed plastic. These Dio placed on to the doors of his posh Holden SS utility vehicle, known as a ute or in some other countries as a pick-up. The sign read: 'Mr Computer Cleaner' and included his email address.

With the stereo playing British drinking songs by 'The Two Tenors and a Soprano from Leeds', he set off to make his first calls as a self-employed computer trouble-shooter.

Mrs Iris Fullerton-Jones, 27 Saleyard Street

"Oh, Dr Wellington, I am so glad that you do house calls," said Iris, a paper-thin woman in her eighties. Dio didn't attempt to correct her complimentary professional appellation.

"Our computer is full of filthy adult images which are keeping my poor Bert in a constant state of arousal which is unpardonable for a man in his eighties. Please exorcise the filth."

Dio was setting business policy as he went, so made a snap executive decision – money first.

"As I stated on the phone, house calls are sixty dollars – cash. And that's only for the first hour."

Iris put her hand into her apron pocket and pulled out a wad of banknotes.

"You ought to charge more – it cost eighty bucks to call out the plumber," she said, counting out three $20 notes. "Are you going to give me a receipt?"

"No," said Dio evasively. "I am not registered for Goods and Services Tax and this call won't earn enough to place me into any declarable income tax bracket."

Iris led him to the room where the computer was located. Mr Fullerton-Jones was already seated at the computer, playing Minesweeper.

"Dr Wellington has come to clean the computer," she shouted.

"Eh?"

"Dr Wellington has come to clean the computer," she shrieked.

"But the cleaning lady does that on Thursday's," replied Bert, who had the appearance of a retired clergyman – thin, a bald pate with the remaining hair positioned like a halo, a sanctimonious expression and no collar on his shirt.

"Here son," Bert said, giving up his seat. "Clean away."

"Look, I need perfect understanding between the two of you," Dio said. "You want me to clear pornographic files from this computer. Is that correct?"

They both nodded, saying yes, with Bert apologizing for thinking that the visitor had arrived to dust the computer.

Dio closed down the game and didn't have to look far for filth. The wallpaper on the desktop was a curvaceous red-hair being ravaged by a creature from outer space that looked like a squid with huge wings.

"At first I thought it funny and then I saw the enormous size of its member and where it was about to penetrate," said Iris.

"It's pretty horny, isn't it?" said Bert. "Look at the size of those nipples. Perhaps you better replace it with something biblical, but save that image won't you?"

"No, trash it!" Iris said.

"Oh, all right. Trash it," Bert confirmed.

Forty minutes later the computer was 'clean' according to Dio's PornoSearch software and he tightened security and invoked the Internet Service Provider's spam filtering software.

"Thank you my boy," Bert said. "Now I can stop taking those damn cold showers."

Gloria Arbuckle, 88a Drenching Avenue

No one answered the door bell, and Dio was about to walk away when a woman in a checked shirt, jodhpurs and brown riding boots appeared from around the corner of the house carrying pruning shears and a basket of cut flowers.

"Oh, Mr Help Desk, I presume. I won't be a minute. I shall just go in through the back door, wash my hands and then I'll be right with you."

Dio activated his stopwatch alarm.

Eventually Gloria opened the front door and led the way to the sunroom where the computer had to be booted and the curtains drawn. She cheerfully handed over $60 and did not ask for a receipt.

"I'm not worried about adult-rated stuff as although it's there I never look at it. My problem is this collection of photographs of horses that I have stored. I show them to some friends who are not as broad-minded as I am. They see some of the stallions are hanging long and get all hot and bothered. I understand it is possible to remove the dangle with a cut and paste operation, but I don't know how to do it. Here is as list of files where electronic surgery is required. I would also like you to show me how I can get these files of stallions in service to another part of my computer, out of sight of these women who can't accept nature for what it is."

"Certainly, Mrs Arbuckle; as good as done."

Dio downloaded a free, good quality image editing program. He tutored Miss Arbuckle step by step on how to trace around the edges of the dangle, cut and dispatch the selected item to recycle bin of the PC and then to copy and select pieces of adjoining background to fill in where selected pixels had been removed.

"Oh, look at that!" cried Miss Arbuckle, clapping. "What a brilliant surgeon you are."

"Practice makes perfect, Miss Arbuckle, and there are even some little tricks such as using the dodging tool to make the cut and paste area look even less interfered with."

They exchanged places and Miss Arbuckle removed dangles and replaced the cleared area with matching adjoining background.

"The more you do it the better you'll become," Dio said.

"Yes, I guess so; just as the stallion has learned," she said, with no hint of embarrassment.

Her interest gave Dio an idea.

"Flick up one of the mating graphics, please"

Up came a black stallion mounting a bay mare.

"Now, when you become expert at image editing you might like to work on removing the bay mare entirely, replacing the cleared area with background, and then using the paintbrush and other subtle editing tools to make the entire edited area look perfectly natural. Then you will be left with a marvelous-looking picture of a rearing stallion. Just look at the power of that hindquarter closest to the camera!"

Miss Arbuckle began saying that time must almost be up when Dio's watch alarm went.

"Is that enough for today?"

She nodded, inviting him to stay for morning tea. He declined, saying he had to press on.

Charles T. Bird, 4 Birch Crescent

Charles came to the door, munching food.

"Good, Mr Help Desk. You're just in time for coffee and muffins."

"Sorry, but I don't have time," replied Dio who thought Charles looked to be a retired Army officer.

"Ridiculous, you need building up," said the chef who worked the evening shift at the bowling club which offered cheap evening meals as it was licensed to sell liquor and operate gaming machines. "Start timing your sixty bucks an hour right now. My problem is only a small one. I hope to enjoy some intelligent conversation."

"What kind of car do you drive, Mr Bird?" Dio asked.

"Is that relevant to intelligent conversation?" Mr Bird countered. "Tell me about your name."

After downing black coffee and two raspberry and rhubarb muffins, Dio went to the computer in the lounge.

"My problem is with this babe that I have selected as wallpaper. Isn't she luscious?"

Dio agreed. "Perfection personified." That seemed to please Charles T. Bird. Dio wondered if the wife had flown the nest of this rather dogmatic man.

"Damn right she is and my wife prefers her to the ones looking like sluts. This one looks like a real princess. Anyway, notice the problem. Her face and breasts are on the left side of the screen and are covered by those blasted columns of icons while her bush and toes are right away from that clutter. I need this problem sorted."

"Right – easily done. Let's see what software you have. Ah, here's a good one, IrfanView. We will click on Start, then Control Panel, then select Display then choose Desktop – and there, see that highlighted name 'Rose' – that's the name of the file confirmed by the graphic produced here in smaller size on the screen. We need to open that file in IrfanView, but where do we find it? Somewhere on c:drive probably, but where?"

"We go to Start, and then search for the file 'Rose'. Still searching, there it is – c:windows\web\wallpaper. Now we open it in IrfanView. There, now we go to Image and select Horizontal Flip and, hey presto! I won't save it because I want you to now complete that whole process yourself."

After that was done Dio filled in the hour showing Charles how to tweak graphics to be used as wallpaper.

"You can even scan a picture and then load it into IrfanView and enhance it or whatever and then under Options you can send it directly to your desktop as a change of wallpaper. Perhaps you could scan a photo of Mrs Bird for your wallpaper?"

"Bloody hell – you haven't seen what Mavis looks like, have you?"

As they stood on the front terrace saying goodbye Mrs Bird drove up in a beautifully restored car, the vehicle easily outshining the driver for looks.

"You are a clever sod, aren't you," the client commented.

Dio's hunch was right – Charles T. Bird possessed a Ford Thunderbird or T-Bird as aficionados call them.

Evelyn McNamara, 331 Long Road

This caller was on the front lawn, staring up a tree anxiously.

"Oh thank goodness you've arrived," said the quite distressed woman. "Cuddles is up the tree and won't come down."

"Cuddles is a cat?"

"Yes."

"Cuddles will come down if you come with me into the house," Dio said confidently, hoping that the theory was correct. He did not wish to climb up a tree for the lady's flea-carrying moggy.

Evelyn limped in ahead of him, right lower leg bandaged. Dio was tempted to ask did Cuddles affectionately inflict that injury, but set his watch alarm instead.

"Sixty dollars is an awful lot of money," said Evelyn, closing the door behind him.

This woman was beginning to hack him off.

"I could half-do the job you require for thirty dollars," he offered.

"Oh, goodness no, I want the work done properly," she said, peeling three $20 notes off a big wad of money.