In getting ready to move to my new apartment, I called the satellite company and made an appointment for them to install my satellite dish. “No problemo”, they said. “We can install it on Saturday the something-or-other date.” “Wow, cool”, I replied. I was thankful that the technicians could do it on Saturday. Two days later I got a call and they said, “OOPS! We don’t have any openings for Saturday until 2020, so we need to reschedule for Monday the whatever.” OK, fine. Between 9 – 11 am? Sure.
Monday-the-whatever comes and I wait. Maybe I should call them just to make sure they are coming. I call. I hit this button and that extension, I say yes and no, and am finally put on hold with some voice telling me that I’m very important to them and will be next. Like I’m really going to believe that 20 minutes later after they’ve told me I’m Next 10 times! I hang up. I’ll wait. Another hour passes and I decide to try calling again. I punch buttons, say words, and again, I’m Next. 20 minutes later my blood is beginning to boil, my knee hurts and I’m still next! How long can you be next? It’s got to stop somewhere, doesn’t it? I wait another half hour and then decide I’ve had enough. I hobble over to the phone and once again dial the number where I’m sure to be Next. This time, I won’t hang up. This time I’ll die trying to get through to a real person, or even a different voice with some different words. Hey, maybe I should just dial a wrong number and tell them I’m being held captive by the Satellite people! Save me!!
But it’s only a minute or two and suddenly a real person asks if they can help me. I’m astonished. I don’t know what to say. I start talking fast (in case they break in and say this is a recording) and say I’m waiting for the technician and do they have any idea when they might arrive? She looks up my order in her Cracker Jacks box and tells me that I’m not scheduled for Monday the whatever. I’m scheduled for Thursday the Next. (No wonder they kept saying I was Next!)
I rescheduled the installation. They said they’d come on Saturday for sure, then called me a couple of hours later and said they couldn’t. I said I couldn’t miss any more work and forget it. They called back and said Of Course we can do it on Saturday Ms. Next! (Likin’ my new name!) Your happiness is important to us! Ok. The next day, Jane Something calls me and says they can’t do it until the following Tuesday. I scream into the phone, “Get away from me! Stop calling me!” “I’m calling cable!”
I called cable TV. I called and left a message. Nobody called me back. Two days later, I went online and signed up for cable. I signed up for Saturday installation, two weeks from that day. I’m feeling better. I know that pretty soon I’ll be able to see TV people that don’t look fuzzy or strained. Life will be good once again. The next afternoon a woman calls on my cell and says she’s the cable girl and apologizes for not getting back to me before. She’s been soooooo busy. I told her I had gone ahead and signed up online and thanks anyway. So she makes me a deal, half price, one free DVR receiver AND she can install it THAT VERY NEXT SATURDAY! How does between 9 and 9:30 sound? I’m stoked. OK, says the cable girl, but you have to call the cable people and cancel your order today. Hmm, sounds a little strange. The hair on my back is standing up, and I didn’t even know I had any hair on my back! I hobble back to the building to get to my cube and decide to take the elevator. Screw the stairs.
Saturday, 9:00 am. I’m dressed, enough make-up on to make me look human, sipping my coffee. Hmm, it’s 9:30 now. I need to have something to eat because this coffee is going to make me mad. Or is it really just the coffee? At 9:45 the phone rings. It’s Cable Carrie and she’s running late but will grace my doorstep in 10 minutes. OK. Fine. 30 minutes later there’s a knock on the door. I open it and am greeted by Carrie and her young intern, Handsome Harry.
Ah, Cable.
In walk Cable Carrie and Handsome Harry. Carrie is a fast talker and Harry is just happy to be in her presence. I’m thinking this is Harry’s first day because he really doesn’t do anything but compliment me on my house (everything’s still in boxes) and tries to talk to my pet birds. They just look at him, deciding to make him jump through a few hoops before they’ll make any sounds, but he’s fine with that since Carrie has taken center stage and is talking about how great she is, working endlessly, and all the men are scared of her because she’s such a strong woman. Right. What does it really mean when someone says members of the opposite sex are afraid of them? I’m thinking that they can’t get a second date. Ever.
Carrie is walking around, using different tools, hooking up the TV to this little box, and finally tells me that she cannot hook up the cable to the outlet in the bedroom. Someone before me had clipped the cable in the wall too short (who could have done that?) and there isn’t enough cable to attach one of those little thingies to. She calls her supervisor and tells me he will call me by Sunday or Monday to make an appointment. She has hooked up the little box to the TV in the Living room but I’ll have to wait until the supervisor comes out to hook up the other one. The manager of the apartment complex will have to authorize someone to open up the wall and connect a new cable to extend the old one. Then Cable Carrie will come back, with or without Harry.
Harry asks if they can leave a splitter for me so I can have cable in the bedroom, and Carrie ignores him. I’m a little surprised that she says nothing, and decide to keep my mouth shut to see what happens. She steers the conversation back to herself, tells me the world is beautiful and she’ll talk to me after the wall has been opened up. Great. Now I’ll be able to hide the royal jewels somewhere. I was especially worried about my tiara from the Ms. Jelly Donut Pageant. I can issue a sigh of relief to the entire world.
I don’t hear from the supervisor at all that weekend, and it’s back to work on Monday.
About 30 minutes after arriving home Tuesday night I hear a knock at my door. I open it and there stands a cable guy apologizing for being late. He was scheduled to arrive between 4-5 pm , but got held up at the last installation. “Well, nobody called me to schedule an appointment so I didn’t even know you were late”, says I. As he strolls into the apartment, he remarks on my nice décor. Again with the compliments! These cable guys really know a lot about trendy moving boxes. I’m impressed! I think I’ll name him Jim. Jim the Cable Guy.
Jim goes into the bedroom to look at the hook-up, and returns with a tear in his eye. I figure he ran into a giant dust ball but, no … he says the cable in the wall is too short to attach a little thingy to and we need to go into the wall and attach a piece of cable to extend it so it will accept a thingy. Yes, I know. He says the apartment manager will need to do that, not sure if I’ll be charged, but he can’t just do that without permission from The Manager. Then, he says that he could go into the wall, attach the cable, attach the thingy, close up the wall, paint it, kiss it, and bless it, and he’ll only charge me $175! What a deal! I said I’ll have to think about it and will call him back but, in the meantime, can he give me a splitter. Jim’s a good guy and says No Problemo. Here’s your genuine cable guy gold-tone splitter.
As he is packing up his tools to go, Jim launches into a dialogue about how he is not going to get paid for coming out because he didn’t do anything, but he DOES take tips. I looked at my back really fast to see if I was wearing my “I’m an Idiot” shirt and found I wasn’t, so I said “Huh”. Off he goes and I’ve changed his name to Poopie Head the Lying Sack of Stuff Cable Guy.
Two days later Cable Carrie calls me to let me know someone will be out that Saturday to hook up the bedroom cable. I asked her about the DVR box and said I can’t seem to record anything or replay anything and she said “That’s because you don’t have a DVR, just a router.” No wonder it looked so different! I told her that I had applied for a DVR box online and was sure I had told her when we talked the first time, so she said she would have it mailed out right away. (She’s sooooo busy!)
The next day, at 4 pm , I get a phone call from another cable guy, and he’s asking if I’m home right now. I said “NO, why? Are you at my apartment?” “Yes”, he said. “I have an appointment to look at the bedroom connection today between 3-5pm”, and I said “No, you don’t. Nobody called me to make an appointment.” When did it become so hard to get cable or satellite for your TV? Have I been asleep for the past 20 years? Do we have robots that clean our homes now? If so, I want one! I wonder what kind of hoops I’d have to jump through for that! The very next day, a woman calls from the cable company saying she is following up on my cable installation and would like to know if I am happy with the service. Well, this was just too good to pass up. After I stopped laughing, I told her as quickly as possible what had happened and what a circus it had been. I also did it without swearing! But, I did tell her the cable guys were among the most fashionably educated I’d ever met. So “up” on the current trends in decorating! Very impressive!
Satellite Again?
I decided to go online to see what the Other Satellite people had to offer, liked their package, and dialed the customer service number. I briefly told them what I had gone through with the Other satellite company and the cable company, and asked if they could install my service, give me DVR, install it in one fell swoop, and do it on Saturday FOR SURE. Mr. Satellite said, “Oh, for Sure!” I called the cable company and cancelled my order.
As I waited for the Satellite technician(s) to knock on my door, I wondered what fate had in store for me. My knee still hurt. I was tired of all this hoopty-doo. I sat and waited. They were only 20 minutes late, hooked up everything, and left without asking for a tip. They didn’t even compliment me on my lovely decorating style. Oh well, we take the good with the bad. They can’t all be fashion experts.
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