The Wonders of Modern Technology
Or, a Time Lord and a Spellchecker
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So, I once again lost my temper at the cheekiness of Microsoft Word's spellchecker thinking its understanding of the English language is better than mine. That, coupled with my annoyance at my Nokia deciding it needs to bleep at me every thirty seconds to warn me that the battery is low – just in case I've somehow forgotten since the last warning bleep – prompted me to write a fic about these infuriating aspects of modern technology. Voilà! Enjoy! (And, as part of your enjoyment, you could perhaps leave a review, yes? Reviews are like coffee – they re-energize me!)
Disclaimer: I do, in fact, own Doctor Who, Microsoft, , and any pickled eggs you might happen to have in your kitchen.
(For those who are sarcasm impaired, that was a complete lie. I own none of these things. If I did, I would be making oodles of cash off this fic. I'm not.)
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Micky Smith looked on in amusement as the Doctor wrestled with the desktop computer in his bedroom. He'd never seen the Time Lord quite so frustrated.
"No, dammit!" the Doctor yelled exasperatedly. "I don't want to replace 'Tardis' with 'tardy'! And I'm not gonna replace it with 'trades', either, so will you just stop asking me?!" He let out a strangled sort of 'argh' sound. "No, no, no! Why on earth would I want to change 'Rassilon' to 'Massillon'? I don't even know what 'Massillon' means, and I know practically everything!"
Mickey raised his eyebrows as the Doctor somehow produced a small paperback dictionary from his jacket pocket and rapidly thumbed through it to the 'm's. Failing to locate an entry for 'Massillon', he angrily snapped the dictionary shut, threw it over his shoulder without looking – Mickey ducked instinctively and just barely managed to avoid being decapitated by the flying book – and pulled out a second, larger dictionary. The Doctor, finding it just as useless as the first, eventually slammed that one down on the desk and started to rummage through his pockets again.
"You know," Mickey suggested helpfully, "you could just look it up on the Internet."
The Doctor spun round in the swivel chair to glare at him. "When I want your help, Mickey the Idiot," he snapped, "I'll ask for it!"
Mickey shrugged and wandered off to see if he had any pickled eggs left in the kitchen. He fancied a sandwich, and was pleased to find that he had not only half a jar of pickled eggs, but most of a tin of tuna as well. He scraped a few bits of mould off the last of a loaf of bread and set to work on his snack.
He got back to the bedroom just in time to grin as the Doctor clicked out of . The Doctor had a bemused expression on his face.
"A city in Ohio?" he said, apparently to the computer. "Why on earth would a spellchecker think I wanted to write about a city in Ohio?" He blinked, shrugged, and returned to what he'd been doing. Mickey munched his way contentedly through his sandwich, watching and listening as the Time Lord typed and muttered.
"Nooooo…" he groaned. Mickey wondered if, if the Doctor had had more hair, he would have been tearing it out in frustration yet. "Stupid computer… Yes, I can put a direct object after that verb… Come on! There is absolutely nothing wrong with that sentence! Hmph… thinks it knows the language better than I do…!"
Mickey finished his sandwich and was licking the last remaining crumbs from his fingers when the Doctor gave an anguished yell.
"No!" he spat at the computer. "I would not like to replace 'Gallifrey' with 'gallery'!" He jabbed a finger fiercely at the machine's power button, smirked vindictively at the screen as it went blank, and pushed his chair back. He then sat there with his arms and legs crossed, fuming.
"You know," Mickey said mildly, "the next time you want to get in touch with your old mate Brigadier Lightbridge-Steward—"
"Lethbridge-Stewart!" the Doctor interjected with a snarl.
Mickey shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "Anyways, maybe instead of writing him an email – and I don't even want to know why you're using Microsoft Word to type a rough draft of an email – you ought to just phone him up."
He tossed his mobile to the Doctor, who scowled as he caught it and stalked off to the kitchen with it, presumably for some privacy.
A moment later, Mickey winced as the Doctor's angry voice floated back through the doorless frame.
"All right, that's bloody enough! I can see the battery's low, why else would the stupid low battery symbol be there in the first place?! Don't interrupt what I'm doing just to tell me what I already know! Stupid apes… idiotic design…"
Next time, Mickey decided, the Doctor was going to have to ask someone else if he could use their computer to write an email.
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My computer did actually suggest 'Massillon' as a replacement for 'Rassilon'. I didn't know what it was either, and, like the Doctor, I looked unsuccessfully for a definition in several different dictionaries before resorting to the Internet. All praise immediately accessible information!
Also, sorry if Mickey seems a bit passive in this fic. I personally think he'd probably actually get incredibly ticked off at the Doctor and do some yelling of his own, but that wouldn't have been nearly as humorous.
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