No Broncos games (uh... never mind). No Charlie Rose being all middle-browy and sycophantic. Is life really worth living?
I just needed the cable to get, like, on. I called Comcast several times, and they promised a technician to come and solve all my problems. I mean, how hard could it be? It wasn't like I was trying to put a chair together.
So every day I came home I eagerly snatched up my remote and was deflated to 9 psi by the message on my screen NO SIGNAL.
Finally, I had had enough. I called Comcast yet again.
"Can you please tell me the serial number on your box, sir," said the Comcast person, his voice sounding like Tandoori chicken looked.
"There are TWO numbers on the back of the box," I said, getting steamed like dumplings.
"The one that starts with GI, please."
"Nope. This is ridiculous. You people..."
"I'm sorry?"
"Look, can't you just send someone over? Don't you have emergency technicians who drive out in rocket cars or jetpacks....? Oh, wait. Here's the number. It was under the box."
"Thank you, sir. And can you check your connection, sir?"
"I'm sure it's fine!"
"Just to make sure, sir."
"Please don't make me. PLEASE."
"Just to check, sir."
Grumbling, I started crawling around the floor like a grunt through the jungles of Vietnam and with the cables like the vines of trees yeah that's a good metaphor.
"Jesus, you people... I'm so sick of... Wait."
I saw that one cable was connected to the TV when it was supposed to go to the wall. And the other cable going to the wall was... supposed to go to the TV.
"Heh heh," I said.
"I'm sorry?"
"I see the problem: my stupidity. I forgot to take that into account."
Once I had switched the cables, the TV came on like the rosy fingers of dawn.
"So glad to help you, sir. Will there be anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes, can a get an order of rosy fingers? If they're not too spicy?"
Now I'm back to where God intended me to be, in front of the teevee. And watching the very best our digital age has to offer.
Ahhhhh......
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