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Friday, September 08, 2006

The Weekday of My Discontent

I hate moving.

Cable guy showed up and brought forth the modem and cable box from on high and a beam of sunlight swooped down to rest gently upon my fevered, high-speed-Interwebs-less brow and a choir of fat babies with wings sang and played harps.

Or, no, maybe I am confused about the whole singing winged babies thing. I think the singing winged babies showed up when I got all new pots and pans ON SALE FOR CHEAP, BABY, and now I don't have to use those old pots and pans I had since I was 18 and we all don't catch the dementia from eating spaghetti seasoned with flakes of Teflon. Mmm mmm, good.

Oh, and I have shiny new silverware, too. Kiss my Pfaltzgraff.

I love closeout stores.

ANYWAY.

I commenced with the Setting Up of the TeeVee first, because ZOMG SOMEONE PLEASE GET THESE KIDS A CARTOON NOW SO THEY LEAVE ME ALONE BEFORE I GO CRAZY AND EAT MY OWN HAIR.

I am a bad mother, as I consider the TV to be an appropriate babysitter and also sometimes feed them ice cream for dinner. I should write a book.

At any rate, after much wrestling with many cables and cords and other intricate nonsense and profuse swearing and kicking of inanimate objects and momentarily nearly strangling myself with speaker wires, I got the television cable-ized and my kids could commence with letting the TV rot their impressionable little brains.

And so I mosey over to Frankencomp and say, "Soon, my precious. Soon, we shall again have the Interwebs access of a regular-type fashion, and all will be well and all will be well and all manner of all things will be well."

I hook up modem and such. I wait eagerly, hovering over the little black box, waiting for its merciful green lights to appear and signal the return of consistent access to the Interwebs.

And...no lights.

NO LIGHTS!

Well, power light. And PC/activity light. But no other lights. NO OTHER LIGHTS!

The horror. The horror.

I briefly considered flinging myself to the floor and churning my little legs around in a fit of pique, but discarded this idea after weighing its pros and cons.

Pros of Hurling Self to Floor and Churning Legs Around in Unbridled Resentment:

1.) Self will get to fully experience the nice nap of the brand new carpet in her brand new spiffy house, oh so soft and cushiony to the anger.

2.) Self will expend pent-up frustrations re: moving.

3.) Self will get moderate exercise and perhaps expend enough calories to make up for the milkshake consumed earlier.

4.) Self will quite possibly worry the children and become the focus of their therapy sessions later in life. "And then this one time, she couldn't get the Interwebs to work on the very first try, so she flung herself to the floor and kicked her legs around in fury, while making these weird mewling sounds, and now I think I need the Haldol."

Cons of Hurling Self to Floor and Churning Legs Around in Unbridled Resentment:

1.) Self might acquire rug burn, which is only acceptable if acquired under certain circumstances.

2.) Self might tire Self out, thus making it impossible to put away shiny new pots and pans and flatware in shiny new cupboards in shiny new kitchen.

3.) Self might end up having to pay for aforementioned therapy sessions for the children, resulting in even more fits of pique and leg-churning. "And then this one time, I hurled myself to the floor in a fit of offendedness, why, yes, I did make that word up, thank you, and then the kids needed the therapy and now I think my bank account needs the Prozac and I could use some morphine, if you have any handy."

4.) Self will not get the Interwebs to function correctly while lying prone on the floor and gazing with rage at the ceiling fan.

In the end, getting the Interwebs to work trumps all. There's time enough for throwing tantrums later. Like when I try to light the pilot light in my furnace tomorrow and blow us all to Kingdom Come. Yippee!

So, no fits! Just grim determination.

I powercycle. No dice.

I powercycle again. No dice.

I beg a tiny bit. "Please, Interwebs. Please." No dice.

Fine, I shall call the tech support. Obviously, there is something wrong with the lines or the modem itself. This must be resolved.

I get a chickie on the line. She runs through several troubleshooting tips. I humor her and do the powercycling again. And TA-DA...no dice.

She says, "Wait a moment, I will check something," and puts me on hold. I twitch in time to the Muzak on the phone. Muzak is much easier to tolerate when I have the Interwebs working.

She comes back. "I see the problem now. There are service outages all over your area. Just keep powercycling every so often and it should be back up soon."

Right. Okay. Outages. Okay. I can deal. Fine.

Kids and I watch the TeeVee for a while. I make them view a documentary on Prader-Willi Syndrome. "Lookie there, kiddies. That's what happens when you can't stop yourself from eating the Zingers. Better watch it."

Then we play with Asher's Batman action figures and Meredith's Aladdin playset and Cinderella pumpkin coach. In retrospect, this appears to have been a bad idea, because, now that they have experienced the joys of having the Batcycle run over the plastic bodies of Cinderella and her stupid mouse footman that's riding on a magic carpet, they may grow up to write ridiculous crossover fanfics and need even more therapy. "And then this one time, she laid on her belly on the floor with us and cackled with glee when Batman kicked Cinderella's sissy la-la ass and now I write bad stories and I think I need the Thorazine."

ANYWAY. Throughout all this debauchery, I am periodically powercycling the modem. And it is still not working. After a few hours, I again become incensed. Surely my Interwebs should be working by now. Surely.

I call the tech support again, because I am a masochist. New person on the phone tells me there are no outages in my area. I deduce that if it's not the lines that are fuckered, it's the modem itself that is faulty. Good thing Miss Marple was on the case.

Meanwhile, "Why would someone say that?" person on the phone wonders.

"Oh, I'll tell you why, my friend. Someone would say that because the someone in question had no idea how to fix my problem and couldn't be bothered trying to figure it out, so she just LIED HER LITTLE TAIL OFF."

"Oh. Well. Yes. Hrm. Well."

"So fix it. Now, please."

"Well, I'll have to send another tech out and the earliest appointment I have is Monday afternoon --"

"Bzzt! Sorry, wrong answer!" I burst in. "I need the Internet on now. Not in a few days. Not whenver you feel like it. NOW."

"But I can't get anyone there."

"Then I will trundle down to the local office and make them swap out my modem. How late is my local office open?"

"5:00."

"Good," I say, and hang up.

At this time, it was 4:27. Plenty of time to trundle to the local office and swap out my modem.

Only when I get to the local office at 4:36, it's closed! CLOSED! And the posted office hours say "8 AM to 4:30 PM."

OH NOEZ, another technical support person lied to me! Twice in one day! I WILL HURT SOMEONE FORTHWITH.

I stand there, contemplating what to do. If I could control the weather like I wish I could, I'd make lightning strike all over the place, just to express my displeasure adequately.

While standing there, a person wearing a Comcast shirt comes out of the side door of the building.

"YOU, SIR!" I shout. "I need help immediately."

I explain the sordid tale of woe and degradation I suffered at the hands of the lying liar people on the phone. Those scoundrels! Jackals, the lot of them! Jackals!

Fortunately, Man From the Side Door is friendly, or else perhaps intimidated by me, as I seem to have morphed into She-Ra, Princess of Power, and am full of righteous indignation that causes me to wave my arms around a lot and punctuate most sentences with "the almighty christing bastards!"

He gets on his little radio thingie and tells one of the techs to go up to my house right away and fix my problem. Now that's customer service, baby.

Or maybe that's what happens when you happen to pigeonhole a supervisor as he's trying to leave work for the day and rant at him on the street while stomping a foot periodically for emphasis and he's maybe worried you are a crazy person and also just wants to go home, and therefore will do anything to get you away from him.

Whatever. It worked.

And the Interwebs was restored and all was well in my peaceable kingdom.


link | posted by Zombie at 9:05 PM |


2 Comments:

Anonymous tokenblogger commented at 6:02 AM~  

...did you buy a new house? And you didn't tell us? Is this why you moved???

Blogger Zombie commented at 9:03 AM~  

Naw, I'm just renting. Don't think I want to buy a house up here. :-)

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