They look up from their hard-fought games of Solitaire and Minesweeper.
"Ug," says one. "Grunt," says the other. "Ug, ug urrrrrrrg!" says the
first, scratching his armpits. They pick fleas off each other for a
while, then the second says, his face contorted with concentration,
"Goods In." The other nods emphatically, hammers his chest and lets out a
territorial howl.
I translate this as, "Please clearly label your monitor with your call
reference number and take it down to Goods In. They will co-ordinate a
replacement."
Thus saith
anejo, here. I wish I could be that witty in my distress. 