The inept activation sequence wouldn't bother me...
Posted: April 14th, 2006, 7:26 am
...if RowPro weren't so bloody RUDE about it.
1. Purchase 2.0 license. Get receipt. Print reciept. CONFIRM in Customer Center that I HAVE the license. Click on the license to look at it again.
2. Deactivate old RowPro.
3. Install new RowPro.
4. Fingers crossed and eyes rolled heavenward, hope that this one time, perhaps, the activation process will simply work right the first time, try "online activation."
5. Get informed, in 24-point giant red letters, that I don't have a license. Not "we seem to have a problem with your license key," or "there's a problem with your registration," but YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE, with the subtle undertone of you thieving scum hidden there between the giant red letters.
6. Sighing heavily, confirm license again on the digitalrowing site. Yes, there it is. Big as life.
7. Try, with a feeling of despondent certainty, the "manual" activation.
8. Laboriously type the entire serial number into the Web browser, because in their infinite wisdom digitalrowing has decided not to allow the computer to select, copy and paste it. That would be convienient.
9. "Get activation key."
10. YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE. You thieving scum. Again, no assumption that I HAVE purchased a license and some bloody incompetent tool at DigitalRowing can't program an activation sequence to save his life. No, YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE! Really. Thanks. Hadn't occured to me, while typing in this bloody great serial number, that a license might be required. I'll pop down to the pharmacy and pick one up, then. Cheers.
11. Check the customer center once again to make sure I really do have a license and this isn't some early morning exercise-induced hallucination. Yes indeed, there it is. Call a family member into the room to bear witness. "See that right there? That license?" "Yes."
12. At the family member's suggestion, try the manual upgrade thing again. Maybe I mistyped the serial number, helpful blood of my blood suggests. Tally ho. Retype the serial number, carefully checking number for number against the screen, Alt-Tabbing back and forth because, again, being able to just copy and paste the thing would be ludicrously simple.
13. YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE! Larcenous scallywag. Yes, that had popped into my head once or twice in the last half-hour. I should get right on that license-purchasing business. Oh, hang on, I have.
14. E-mail digitalrowing.
15. Wait.
The whole arduous procedure would be slightly less of a throbbing root canal if the company didn't make the broad assumption throughout the entire process that I'm either too stupid or too dishonest to actually have ALREADY BOUGHT THE LICENSE.
I'm ready and willing to guarantee that most people seeing these messages have, like me, bought the license already.
I've upgraded my computer considerably over the last year; swapping around motherboards, adding some RAM. Perhaps it doesn't recognize the old computer as "Computer #999999" any more. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just good old-fashioned human error. But when you plunk down good money for a license and follow every installation step thoroughly and meticulously, getting condescended to at 6:15 a.m. does not set one's foot on a sunshiney path for the rest of the day.
1. Purchase 2.0 license. Get receipt. Print reciept. CONFIRM in Customer Center that I HAVE the license. Click on the license to look at it again.
2. Deactivate old RowPro.
3. Install new RowPro.
4. Fingers crossed and eyes rolled heavenward, hope that this one time, perhaps, the activation process will simply work right the first time, try "online activation."
5. Get informed, in 24-point giant red letters, that I don't have a license. Not "we seem to have a problem with your license key," or "there's a problem with your registration," but YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE, with the subtle undertone of you thieving scum hidden there between the giant red letters.
6. Sighing heavily, confirm license again on the digitalrowing site. Yes, there it is. Big as life.
7. Try, with a feeling of despondent certainty, the "manual" activation.
8. Laboriously type the entire serial number into the Web browser, because in their infinite wisdom digitalrowing has decided not to allow the computer to select, copy and paste it. That would be convienient.
9. "Get activation key."
10. YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE. You thieving scum. Again, no assumption that I HAVE purchased a license and some bloody incompetent tool at DigitalRowing can't program an activation sequence to save his life. No, YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE! Really. Thanks. Hadn't occured to me, while typing in this bloody great serial number, that a license might be required. I'll pop down to the pharmacy and pick one up, then. Cheers.
11. Check the customer center once again to make sure I really do have a license and this isn't some early morning exercise-induced hallucination. Yes indeed, there it is. Call a family member into the room to bear witness. "See that right there? That license?" "Yes."
12. At the family member's suggestion, try the manual upgrade thing again. Maybe I mistyped the serial number, helpful blood of my blood suggests. Tally ho. Retype the serial number, carefully checking number for number against the screen, Alt-Tabbing back and forth because, again, being able to just copy and paste the thing would be ludicrously simple.
13. YOU NEED TO PURCHASE A LICENSE! Larcenous scallywag. Yes, that had popped into my head once or twice in the last half-hour. I should get right on that license-purchasing business. Oh, hang on, I have.
14. E-mail digitalrowing.
15. Wait.
The whole arduous procedure would be slightly less of a throbbing root canal if the company didn't make the broad assumption throughout the entire process that I'm either too stupid or too dishonest to actually have ALREADY BOUGHT THE LICENSE.
I'm ready and willing to guarantee that most people seeing these messages have, like me, bought the license already.
I've upgraded my computer considerably over the last year; swapping around motherboards, adding some RAM. Perhaps it doesn't recognize the old computer as "Computer #999999" any more. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just good old-fashioned human error. But when you plunk down good money for a license and follow every installation step thoroughly and meticulously, getting condescended to at 6:15 a.m. does not set one's foot on a sunshiney path for the rest of the day.