Television Trauma

We pay a lotta' cash each month to watch TV. Yet, over the past three months, the service has been sporadic, images freezing, the system kicking us out with rude messages like, "I'm sorry, but you suck, you can't watch TV now."

I won't name the provider (yet). But we've had ten different fellas out over the last three months.

Some of them quite swell; one hobbit wanted to hang with me and waste out his hours. Fine, your dime, whatever. But each "technician" has a different diagnosis ("Your frim-fram is set to stun," "Looks like your dig-outs have been compromised by gophers," "You should only use your microwave when you're not watching TV," "Have you heard of electronic Shingles?") They all have solutions, none of them work.

Most of the guys are nice. 75% of them look like ruddy-cheeked "Larpists" with teeny-tiny Game of Thrones goatees.

One dude was the Zen-Warrior of TV Maintenance:

Me: "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Zen-Warrior of TV: "Coffee? Hmm, coffee. I don't believe I've experienced the fixation of coffee in many moons. These days I evolve with Taekwando and study Winnie the Pooh books. I wouldn't consider sullying my temple with caffeine."

Okay. That's fine. Just fix the damn TV.

None of them have. The biggest problem is one hand doesn't know what the other's doing. A stray finger scratches my belly, promising glorious rewards (or at least, a working TV stream). The other punches in our phone number and inanely asks, "Are you satisfied with how your problem was resolved?"

GAH!

Makes me long for the olden days when we had three (four, if the weather was in our favor) channels. Sure, it sucked, having to choose between Lawrence Welk or Hee-Haw, but at least we could depend on the choices.