So I'd worry about it later. I clicked on the television to watch a Seinfeld rerun.
Again, nothing. I unplugged the DVR/cable box, counted to 10, and plugged it back in. A message appeared saying that there must be some sort of problem. No signal was available.
35 minutes left.
"Can't I just relax for a few minutes?," I said to one of the cats. "Why does this always happen?" In fact, it's never happened before. I was just frustrated.
A half hour before I had to leave, I called the cable company which provided both our cable TV and wifi. Comcast's computer operated IVR (interactive voice response system) answered right away.
Now, I used to design IVR call flows. I know a good one when I hear it. Comcast does not have a good IVR flow.
It's creepy that it knows my address before I do anything, presumably from my incoming phone number. I had to provide the last four digits of Clyde's social security number (the account is in his name). Then I had to tell it what the problem was.
I said: "Wifi and cable are out."
"Is your problem related to the television or wifi?" asked the IVR. "Please say television or wifi."
"Argh...." I said, feeling a hole burning into my stomach lining. "Both!"
Comcast's computer said: "I understand you have a billing issue. You can go to our website and try to resolve the problem there."
"No," I screamed. "I cannot go to your website. My wifi is out." I punched 0 several times in hopes of being transferred to a customer service agent. It didn't work.
"Please tell me the nature of your call," the computer repeated.
"I want to speak to a customer service representative," I yelled, reminding myself that since I was talking to a computer, I wasn't hurting anyone's feelings by being angry.
20 minutes left.
I finally hit on the right command by saying, "Agent! Agent! Agent!" I was put on hold to wait for the next available agent.
Marie was very nice. I told her as patiently as I could what the problem was. Marie was, in fact, a real person and I didn't want to blame her for all of Comcast's IVR ineptitude. Remotely, she reset my modem and had me unplug the DVR. Like I'd done already. Nothing happened.
15 minutes.
Marie got to a point where she didn't know what to do. She would have to refer the problem to someone else and call me back in 10-15 minutes.
I don't think I have to tell you how I felt about that. The clock was ticking.
I watch a lot of television. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe it's not good for me. But I don't smoke or do drugs. I don't drink alcohol. When I come home after a hard day I want to watch TV. When TV is not available, I break into a cold sweat. My insides turn to jelly. My heart rate goes up. Quick, I think, go online to relax. Look at Facebook or Youtube or check email. But in this case I couldn't because the wifi was out too. Why not have all of the electricity go out then? What's the point of even being home? I needed a screen to look at, damn it!
I was putting my shoes on to go out the door when Marie called back. They were unable to identify the problem remotely and there were no known problems in my area. Could a technician come out the next day?
"Well yes," I said sarcastically, "except I"m going to be at work."
I did consider that I was lucky to get someone the next day, not several weeks from now. But we pay a lot of money for Comcast. I shouldn't have to miss even a day of television or Internet.
I left for my evening activity. When I returned, the TV still blinked a message that there must be some sort of problem. I desperately faced the question of how to cope with the rest of my evening. Without watching one of my shows, how would I wind down enough to go to sleep?
Hands shaking as if I had the DTs, I leaned against the counter and wondered, "What did the pioneers do without screens to interact with?" I reflected that they were exhausted from working all the time and probably just went to sleep.
Defeated, I looked around for some sort of technology with which to occupy my mind. My eyes fell upon an iPad sized object with a shiny covering. Inside, words appeared. When you came to the last words, you flipped a piece of the object over and a whole new set of words appeared. I didn't see a power source or an on/off button. It didn't beep or flash. There was no "Like" button. Something deep in my mind recognized this object. I'd seen these before. I used to have a lot of them, in fact. It was called, "book."
I carried the book to bed, arranged myself between two cats, and fell asleep.
