Mainstream Cinema is Giving Me Unrealistic Hopes

My Acer laptop bailed on me a week ago due to unknown reasons.

OK, fine. I accidentally poured water on it. Operative word: accidentally.

And my Dad was completely against paying to fix the damn thing, which I was OK with since the laptop is really old. I'm talking Yuvraj-Singh-going-out-with-Deepika-Padukone old. That must have been, like, five years ago, right?

Regardless, my Dad finally agreed to let me call customer service and ask them what the hell they were doing selling me a laptop that fused when you just dropped water on it. Even if that is pretty much the only criteria you need to fuse out any circuit. The little details don't matter. So I call their 1800 line and some dude in a Scandinavian country (at least I think so) picks up and thanks me for calling and that my issues will be immediately attended to and to hold and that I'll be dispatched to a customer services line in - wait for it - India.

So the line was on hold with that awful music for about ten minutes before a guy picked up and started chattering away in that horrible anti-British accent all those call centre people seem to have. Needless to say, being an 1800 line, I didn't get anything useful out of it and my appeal for warranty was, very rudely, rejected. But I couldn't care less since my Dad will eventually stop fuming anyway and take the laptop somewhere into the hidden IT section of his company that no one sees or knows and get it made as good as new, with the latest iTunes installed.

So my laptop? I don't give a damn. But what I did care about, for a large portion of the call and subsequently after, was whether the call centre guy looked like Dev Patel.

Seriously.

I'm gonna hit that. Soon...

For all I know the call centre dude must be married with kids, probably rides a Scooty Pep+ to work and watches Nach Baliye reruns. But what if, just what if, he turned out to be an annoyingly cute British-Indian with a life-long ambition to track down a girl he met years ago and wouldn't rest until he was united with his one true love?

What if this Dev-ish person was actually one of my kindergarten classmates who used to pull my plaits and pour water down the back of my multi-coloured uniform?

And what if that boy got hit with a large stick of utter cuteness as he grew up and started thinking, "Maybe I shouldn't have pulled her plaits and poured water down the back of her multi-coloured uniform" and attempts to find me and take me far, far away to a... umm... CST terminal where we can start life anew with our tender love and affection for each other?

You can't see me, but I'm jumping in my swivel chair, yelling, "Hell, yeah!"

And you know the best part?

He'll be ten million bucks richer by the end.

Which means "Goodbye, Acer" and "Hello, MacBook Air".
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