Monday, August 30, 2010
The Cable Gal
In what is possibly the most tragic news of all time, my Comcast On Demand has stopped working. Right in the middle of what was supposed to be a Jersey Shore marathon. (And no, I don't think it killed itself rather than endure The Situation's rhetorical grammar.) We were humiliated in front of our guests, and not just because I ate half of the chili cheese dip all on my own.
Matters did not improve when I entered Comcast's online chat room for technical issues. I was twentieth in the queue when I go there, and it took half an hour to make first contact with "Ann," a sassy slip of a gal who had many helpful suggestions like 1) shutting down the cable box and restarting it and 2) waiting to see what happened. We filled the waiting time by imagining unexpected responses to Ann's various entreaties.
ANN: What can I help you with tonight, John?
IMAGINED RESPONSE: I'm freakin out without my Jersey Shore fix here, Ann. I needs to get my Snookie on.
ACTUAL RESPONSE: My On Demand is giving me error message SRM-8, Ann.
ANN: Hold on a second while I look that up, John.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: Do you mind if I take my pants off while I wait, Ann?
ACTUAL RESPONSE: Will do, Ann.
ANN: I have some ideas about how to fix your problem, John, but I will need your help.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: Are you hitting on me, Ann?
ACTUAL RESPONSE: No problem, Ann, I'm on it.
ANN: Try unplugging the cable box from the wall, waiting fifteen seconds, and plugging it back in.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: Oh, this is just like what we did with my Great Aunt Gladys, except for the plugging it back in part.
ACTUAL RESPONSE: Sounds great, Ann. I will do it right away.
ANN: It will be about forty-five minutes until we know if this worked, John.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: You really fucked up on this one, you know that Ann?
ACTUAL RESPONSE: Thanks, Ann. You're the best.
Needless to say, the Comcast technician comes tomorrow between 7:30 and 10.
In what is possibly the most tragic news of all time, my Comcast On Demand has stopped working. Right in the middle of what was supposed to be a Jersey Shore marathon. (And no, I don't think it killed itself rather than endure The Situation's rhetorical grammar.) We were humiliated in front of our guests, and not just because I ate half of the chili cheese dip all on my own.
Matters did not improve when I entered Comcast's online chat room for technical issues. I was twentieth in the queue when I go there, and it took half an hour to make first contact with "Ann," a sassy slip of a gal who had many helpful suggestions like 1) shutting down the cable box and restarting it and 2) waiting to see what happened. We filled the waiting time by imagining unexpected responses to Ann's various entreaties.
ANN: What can I help you with tonight, John?
IMAGINED RESPONSE: I'm freakin out without my Jersey Shore fix here, Ann. I needs to get my Snookie on.
ACTUAL RESPONSE: My On Demand is giving me error message SRM-8, Ann.
ANN: Hold on a second while I look that up, John.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: Do you mind if I take my pants off while I wait, Ann?
ACTUAL RESPONSE: Will do, Ann.
ANN: I have some ideas about how to fix your problem, John, but I will need your help.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: Are you hitting on me, Ann?
ACTUAL RESPONSE: No problem, Ann, I'm on it.
ANN: Try unplugging the cable box from the wall, waiting fifteen seconds, and plugging it back in.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: Oh, this is just like what we did with my Great Aunt Gladys, except for the plugging it back in part.
ACTUAL RESPONSE: Sounds great, Ann. I will do it right away.
ANN: It will be about forty-five minutes until we know if this worked, John.
IMAGINED RESPONSE: You really fucked up on this one, you know that Ann?
ACTUAL RESPONSE: Thanks, Ann. You're the best.
Needless to say, the Comcast technician comes tomorrow between 7:30 and 10.
