Steely guts, determination and a flip disregard for the manufacturer’s warrantee. I gird myself against the real possibility that I’d kill what has become a dear friend and companion: my iPod.

I push the flat plastic pick between its seam, and begin the process of harping it open to replace the battery. It’s harder than it looks on the instructional video I found online. I think that stems from the nagging feeling that you’re tearing apart a valuable device. It gives you a knot in your stomach through the entire surgery.

Once open, the iPod loses a bit of mystique. It’s just a laptop hard drive. I knew that all along, but daily use for almost three years had bolstered it into much more.

I gently pry the hard drive from its seat on the iPod’s tiny mother board and set it aside. Deep breath, and on to step two. I pull the battery’s plug and gingerly work the wires from their secure position. Deep breath. I push the new battery’s plug in, seat it and start putting it all back together.

Two deep breaths. Snap, snap, as I force the metal panel back on to the upturned face of the device. Then I turn it over, and click the power button. Nothing. What went wrong? I curse myself for 10 panicky seconds before realizing the new battery, of course, doesn’t come charged.

Exhale. I plug it in and that familiar grey apple appears. Exhale again. This patient’s going to make it.

The surgery isn’t without it’s pitfalls. Afterward, my iPod developed the electronic equivalent of a heart murmur: a slight rattle. Still, it’s nothing that a follow-up operation and a strip of foam tape can’t solve. That’s a small price to pay for a new lease on a little electronic life.

I guess I’ve got to suck it up: Intuit’s crack consumer team is never going to contact me. I sent them a nastygram on Feb. 8 concerning an overcharge for tax services rendered. Nine days later, nothing.

Customer service doesn’t have to die in the Internet age, but Intuit has proved that they can kill it. But, just because you can hide behind your computers and ignore your customers, doesn’t mean you should.

In other customers-are-always-wrong news, I received a late notice from Progress Energy today. (Progress has a history of being unfriendly to this customer, but it’s a monopoly, so what can you do?) I was late paying my bill, which was due Feb. 10. I paid it Feb. 11 on the Web.

The Progress people found it in their black little hearts to generate a late notice on screaming blue paper the day my bill was due. You read that right, folks; the notice is dated Feb. 10. I wasn’t even late yet when this notice trailed off their laser printer.

Is that normal? Grace period - heard of one? Hell, even my credit card company allows for a 10-day grace period. Are Progress customers historically such deadbeats as to justify this kind of asinine corporate behavior?

It was the same when I moved to St. Petersburg: In the name of Progress, they charged me a two-month deposit. I was told when I initially called that it could be waived if I passed a credit check. I have recent copies of my credit report, and they bear no blemishes. They went on to charge the deposit and told me they “were under no legal obligation to disclose the criteria on which they based my failure.” Nice.

The customer, you see, is always wrong. And we have the lawyers to prove it.

The progress of technology has its rightful place as the cornerstone of our modern world. But, for all this progress, computers are still dumb as the materials from which we make them.

Here’s a letter I sent to Intuit today regarding their TurboTax online software, then two points.

Let me go over an aspect of customer service, because I’m not seeing this from Intuit. Regardless of what you think of a customer’s claim, you owe that customer the respect of a response answering his or her concerns.

Case in point: I did my taxes through TurboTax for the first time on Jan. 28. I live in Florida, which is explicitly a no-income-tax state. Your online software insisted that, based on my responses to the federal form, I may owe state income tax. I was incredulous, but went through the state sequence. I can recall no warning that doing so would cost me.

Of course, I didn’t owe anything. But, imagine my surprise when the software went on to charge me $24.95 for that portion of the service.

As I wrote in a note to you then, I paid it anyway because I want my return sooner rather than later. Ten days later, I’m glad I did. Based on your customer service response, which amounted to a form letter thanking me for my submission, I would’ve waited a long while to get that charge stricken from my bill, which was my original intent.

TurboTax is advertised as if using it is just like going to a tax professional. Any tax professional would have been savvy enough to recognize immediately that I didn’t owe state tax. I know; I’ve had my taxes done by a professional for the last three years. And, based on my experience with TurboTax, I expect I’ll return to having a live person doing my taxes. At least then I know what to expect when the bill comes due.

Respectfully yours,

Jeremy A. Verdusco

Point No. 1: You sound cheap. Yes, I am. I paid $2.35 per gallon to fill up my car yesterday. That $24.95 would get me to work and back for a week and a half.

Point No. 2: But what’s the big deal, it’s only $24.95? Yes, that’s’ why I paid it in the first place. If Intuit doesn’t respond (again), I’m only out $25. Principle, I say.

It’s worth noting that I paid $100 to get my 2004 taxes done, so TurboTax was a bargain. Still, it’s all about expectations. I thought it would cost me $10 to use TurboTax. When that @#%*& software added it up, it was $35. As a consumer, I don’t like surprises.

UPDATE: Ooh, another thimble-full of warm fuzzies. A second form letter in my inbox:

Thank you for your comments! We appreciate you taking the time to help us improve our products and services!

What happens next? While we do not respond to every comment that we receive, we will carefully consider your comment as we improve our products and processes.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be among the elite few they respond to. If being forthright about pricing counts as improving products and processes, woe to the consumer.

This is what we get with tape-delay censorship:

Two sexually explicit lyrics were excised from the rock legends’ performance Sunday. The only song to avoid the editor was “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” a 41-year-old song about sexual frustration.

In “Start Me Up,” ABC’s editors silenced one word, a reference to a woman’s sexual sway over a dead man. The lyrics for “Rough Justice” included a synonym for rooster that the network also deemed worth cutting out.

Of course the rock legends are the Rolling Stones.

My question is, what’s the point in censoring a song that has been played ad naseum on the radio for years intact?

“Start Me Up” and “Satisfaction” were risque, um, like a generation ago. As far as their new song, I haven’t heard it, but I presume the objectionable word was “cock.” Double entendre aside, is it really that graphic coming from “rockers” eligible for AARP mailings?

For the record, here’s the lyric in context:

One time you were my baby chicken
Now you’ve grown into a fox
Once upon a time I was your little rooster
But am I just one of your cocks

It seems pretty obvious to me that they’re talking about a bevy of male chickens, but you never know. Somebody might snicker Beavis & Butthead-style at that.

Impressionable minds might be watching. I’m glad ABC saw fit to protect me from that.*

* Obviously sarcasm. Shakespeare used worse double entendres, and he’s taught in high school without a 5-second tape delay.

A serious cocaine problem often comes with warning signs. Being arrested alone in your SUV with the drug while “sweating profusely and naked from the waist down” ranks high on the list.