MediaPlay

They called Computer Leon. Soon, wire and card lawn signs went up saying “We called Computer Leon.”

“If it weren’t for Computer Leon, I’d have nothing but a thousand dollar paper weight on my desk,” a man said.

“Computer Leon’s a real pro. He had my PC up and running in little more than an hour. He didn’t even break a sweat.”

“He’s like the dog whisperer but with computers.”

More signs went up. “We called Computer Leon,” the lawn signs said. Even people who didn’t call Computer Leon put up signs that said “We called Computer Leon” because they wanted everyone to believe that they were the kind of people who would call Computer Leon, if they had computers. Computer Leon got busy with so many calls he had the income to make custom signs, such as “I called Computer Leon” and “Computer Leon for President.”

“Sure, he’s a bit odd. But he gets the job done.”

“I got a virus and I called Computer Leon. He came right over. He said he was on his lunch break but he came anyway. He found the problem and sent that virus packing to hell where it fucking belongs.”

“Computer Leon installed my new operating system. While we waited, I served him cookies. I didn’t know he was allergic to nuts though. Sure, his tongue got all swoled up and everything but he stayed till he had my machine purring like a new engine. Computer Leon’s the best.”

Computer Leon drove the neighborhoods computing the number of signs. “I’m on the constant go,” he told me. “I don’t have time to worry about politics and the world’s problems. I’m constantly on the go. You wouldn’t believe the things people do to their computers. The problems they get themselves into.”

“For instance,” I said.

“Like desktop clutter or using their CD trays as cup holders. But they’re all nice people. They show me their houses. Plans for additions. I know some of those houses better than the owners do. Some I’ve had to rewire and when you rewire you learn things.”

It was a Saturday when Computer Leon was on calls and he saw a sign on the lawn of a big blue Colonial that said, “We called Computer Geek Woman.”

He read the sign as an accusatory blow. Computer Leon asked the man at the door. The man said, “Because I called you and I got a message. I called and she came right over. Sorry.”

“Competition’s good for the soul,” his wife said.

“The hell you say,” Computer Leon said, hatching schemes.

More signs that said “We called Computer Geek Woman” went up. Soon he saw “We called Computer Geek Woman” signs next door to his own. Happy green clover decorated the borders. The bold brown script gave Computer Leon chills.

He called her. “My computer. I think it’s the hard drive.”

“Tell me exactly what happened,” a woman said, cordial, competent. He said, “You can’t guess? I thought you were the great Computer Geek Woman.”

“Sorry,” she said. “But if you tell me what happened I’d be glad to help as best I can.”

He told a story. He tried to sound convincingly naive. “Then the thingy started to go bloop bloop and it just seized up” he said. She sped right over. He brought her downstairs. He’d rigged his virtual memory as a trap. She caught the problem straight away and reset to default.

“She’s good,” he told his wife.

“Leave her alone, Leon. She’s just trying to make a living. It’s hard times out there.”

He knew peoples’ schedules. He understood the neighborhood’s pulse. He slipped in through a sliding door and went deep into a man’s PC, and on his drive away he grinned at the “We called Computer Geek Woman” sign and said, “Fix that.”

In between calls he fouled two more Geek Woman clients. On one he broke open the case and took a needle to the ATX pins.

“These power connector pins are mutilated,” he told the woman when she called him. “No problem.” When he drove up the “We called Computer Geek Woman” sign had been removed and a fresh “We called Computer Leon” sign had been tamped in its place.

“Computer Leon’s my man when it comes to equipment,” the woman told me. “I run a home business. My life depends on my computer. I should never have trusted Computer Geek Woman.”

A few days later, nearby the Catholic Church, he saw a sign that said, “Computer Leon is a Fraud” and another that said “It’s Computer Leon: Lock Up Your Goat!”

On his answering machine: “This message is for you, Computer Leon. Two can play this game.”

“What the hell’s this about, Leon?” his wife wanted to know. She had a wooden spoon in her hand. She slapped its bowl hard into her palm. “Who is that? Whatever it is you’re up to, quit it.”

“The hell you say,” Computer Leon said.

“What’s this about, Leon?” asked Cruz, a man with a bank of Mac Pros in his office.

“It’s nothing,” Computer Leon swore, opening a case of CDs. “I don’t know anyone with goats.”

In his driveway, someone had put a wire-frame sign that said “Computer Leon called Computer Geek Woman.” He stuffed it in the trash.

He pulled signs up from the church, library, and bank lawn at midnight. His truck bed was soon full of signs that said “Computer Leon called Computer Geek Woman.” He dreamed about illicit signs. They checkered the landscape. He pushed a sign up hill over and over again that said “Computer Leon is Losing His Mind” and up hill still because the hill went up hill still.

He grew dreary with sleep loss; he swore while brushing his teeth. The skin under his left eye began to sag. But the calls kept him running: “I’m getting that fatal error message, Leon.” “My CD drive won’t read disks, Leon.” “My computer won’t turn on, Leon.” “It keeps freezing, Leon.” “What was that registry thingy again, Leon?” “What does a question mark on gray folder mean at bootup, Leon?” “My computer keeps telling me I’m an asshole, Leon.” “I spilled apple cider on my keyboard, Leon.” “I got that virus again, Leon.” “How do I start up a Facebook account, Leon.” “Are those commercials really true, Leon?” “What’s the matter with your eye, Leon.” “You look like crap, Leon.” “Well, Leon, if that’s the way you’re going to be, I’ll just call Computer Geek Woman.”

In the morning, Computer Leon practically had to throw himself behind the wheel. His hands were raw from pulling signs. He bore troubled dreams on his back like a load of hard drives.

On a lawn at the end of the block was a sign that said, “We called Dan the Computer Man.” Happy lady bugs danced across the bottom of the sign. The bold blue typography gave him chills.

The woman who opened the door said, “You were busy; she was busy. But this Dan fellow. Well, I called, and he came right over.”