How to flirt with the guy in the computer store

Walk in, with your breasts.

Right off the bat this often bears one of two instant results: instant flirtation/conversation with your tits, or you'll notice you've donned a cloak of invisibility which conceals your very presence right up to the point that you try walking out with a 100 cake of CD-Rs in your coat.

You are in your thirties, with grey hairs, a dykey haircut, a stick, jeans, and a huge hoody on which, when the string from the hood falls in the right way, appears to read 'make it c unt'. You are, incase you've not worked this bit out already, firmly encased in the cloak of invisibility.

Walk up to the manager guy - you know, the one who is on the other side of puberty from the rest of the staff.

Tell him you've got a problem - that you've accidentally disabled the graphics card while attempting to fix a display problem, and now the screen is black after startup, and no, none of the three safe modes work, neither does 'Enable VGA', or anything relating to AGP in the BIOS, no it's not a problem with screen resloution and you've even tried resetting it blind using keyboard commands and scant guidance from the sounds you can still hear coming from your speakers but you're pretty sure as you don't have onboard graphics on the motherboard you are, it seems, out of ideas.

Did you think you were just going in there and asking for help, giving as much information as possible to ensure that computer guy didn't start with 'Have you tried rebooting it?' without looking up from the gaming mag he's reading? Did you really think that's what you were doing?

Oh no, my friend. With language like that your invisibility cloak fell swiftly to the floor. What you have initiated is clearly a full on flirt.

Observe: the technical language and acronym-laden geekspeak causes computer guys chest to puff out bit by bit, and as he leans awkwardly against the glass display cabinet you note that his eyes have now peeled away from Massive Online Gamer (June/July 08 - editorial: 'does Second Life suck way more now that it's written about in lay terms in the Observer, and why does it still get lumped in with MMORPGs by know-nothing trendies who weren't ever there at the start anyway?') and he is now peering/staring at you intensely through a tangled thatch of Bob Geldof fringe.

Now with computer guy's full attention, you ask about another graphics card, get a long and enthusiastic rundown of all of its attributes as well as his personal brand affiliations and a smattering of graphics card-related anecdotes, and complimented on your choice of monitor (the old one burned out into a little squeak). He shouts questions about stock numbers in his best big in-charge manager voice to the nervous wee lad at the till, relays another personal memory of graphics cards gone by, then ends this enthusiastic response with a breathy yet slightly shouted 'hey - I'm a technician and sometimes even I can't figure out what's wrong.' Slow nod through the hair.

It seems that still in this eighth year of the third millenium, females and computer stores (much as with females and guitar stores) are still way too much of a rarity to be believed, much less reacted to with anything approaching normality.

Just say thanks, pay for the card, and leave.

Find out later that he knows jack shit when you install the card, discover it hums like a jet engine, and does not a thing towards fixing your problem.

Call your friend who really does know, and get it sorted. Breathe out. And prepare to go back and get a bloody refund.