This week Superhusband and I re-joined the 21st
Century. We got cable AND internet AND
new smart phones. I’m pretty taken with
my Motorola Galaxy Stratosphere with the physical keyboard and touch
screen. I’m going to leave it near the
package of bacon in the morning and see if, indeed, it can cook my breakfast. But I digress. There are adventures in bureaucracy
and the mundane to be told, and I’m just the girl to do it.
We signed up for Verizon for our phones on Thursday, April
25th, 2013 at 1:00 in the afternoon. At such time, we also requested
the “Double Play” bundle from Comcast wherein we could get the same price for
internet and cable as with going directly through Comcast, just minus the
installation fees and plus a gift card. When our intrepid sales rep “Beau” put
in our order with Comcast, however, he received an error message saying that
the location in question (that being our apartment) was not a residential
address. Oh goody. He assured us that
things would be fixed soon and that he would call with details and a solution
which he was sure were imminent.
Superhusband and I trotted off to Nashville, playing with
our phones. When we returned to Florence, we even waited until Monday to call
Verizon. No word. Nothing. We called again Thursday. Nothing. We called again the next Monday. Nine days in, we decided we had had enough
and went down to Verizon at 7:45pm, a mere quarter-hour before closing, and
were ready to make heads roll—because, frankly, after building fence gates,
mucking out a demolished back room, and squaring a porch, I had little patience
for someone who got to be clean all day and just push buttons telling me that
they couldn’t find the right button to push.
They STILL could tell us no more, and even their “higher-ups” who were
working on the case (we were told) couldn’t get closer to resolution. So Beau printed a screen shot of the error
message which contained an 800-number, and sent us on our way with more
promises. You would think that as adept as Superhusband and I have gotten with
waiting and paperwork that we would be prepared for this. I have found that one is never prepared for
Comcast.
The next morning I lived up to my title as
Blunderwoman. Let me just say that if
the thought “I’ve got a few minutes before we’re ready to go out; I’ll make a
quick call to my cable provider.” EVER runs through your head, squash it. It’s
either brainwash time, or you just need to volunteer for euthanasia, because it
is a stupid thought. But I had it, and even worse, I dialed the phone. Upon getting rescued from the worst-quality
Musak in the Western hemisphere, I met Ranada. Something in her voice told me
that I would not get off the phone unscathed. I had Renada on speaker phone
with Superhusband intending to give moral support.
I explained the problem to Renada. She gave me a sales pitch wherein all the
prices were different and installation fees applied, making no reference to our
Verizon deal. Superhusband’s face turned
red. I explained the problem again. She gave me a sales pitch wherein all the
prices were different and installation fees applied, making no reference to our
Verizon deal. Superhusband’s face turned purple and he began to mutter. I
explained the problem, doggedly and impassioned. She gave me a sales pitch
wherein all the prices were different and installation fees applied, making no
reference to our Verizon deal. With Superhusband in grave danger of
spontaneously combusting from the neck, I explained to Ranada that she would
have to speak to my husband who desperately wanted to explain the problem to
her yet again.
After only a few veiled threats and quick conference with
her manager, Ranada finally saw things more clearly—that we were going to have
the price that was offered, the deal that was offered, and no installation
fees. We made an appointment for
installation for Thursday May 9th, 2013 at 1:00 in the
afternoon. And I’m sure that
Superhusband’s face sustained no lasting damage.
That, thankfully, was the hard part. Since getting our new service we have
discovered the absolute joy and surge of power that comes with the ON DEMAND
button. I have never had this service in a room without wings on it. It’s reminiscent of Singapore Airlines’
personal entertainment system only lacking the porcelain-faced Asian women
bringing me hot towels and snacks (which is a downer, because I really liked
them, but the fee to bring one home was just too steep.) Superhusband and I get practically giddy with
authority in choosing shows, mainly of home-renovation-theme, and
fast-forwarding through all commercials. And if we don’t like a show, we STOP
it. And if we have to go out, we STOP
it. It is as if the entire
home-entertainment industry may not proceed without our express consent.
I like the idea so much that I began thinking about other
things that I would like to be able to “ON DEMAND.” Food, that’s one. Imagine the possibilities if I could speak
the word “CAKE” and one appear before me?
And if it’s not a flavor I liked? I could send it back to the ether
along with all the calories I consumed.
All that would be lost is the time I took to taste it. Now that’s
power. Or if I could say “FAMILY” and they would appear, and press pause and
they’d stay healthy. If I could say “CHILDREN” and immediately have a brood of
my own—or better yet “GRANDCHILDREN” and I could just skip to the spoiling them
part of the story and not have to actually put in the hard years of disciplining
impressionable beings. I could say “HOUSE” and either get our home completely
renovated or have Hugh Laurie appear before me brashly. I’d be okay with whichever.
Then, this morning, Superhusband and I were listening to one
of our favorite on-air local preachers while we were getting ready for our
home-congregation’s worship service. His
message was about filling our spiritual gas tank, and about how God doesn’t
give us an “empty light” because He never intended us to get low on fuel. We
were made to be full and made to be driven. Then I thought, reverently, what if
Spiritual help was “ON DEMAND?” Then a
second later I thought, “Oh…it is. I just don’t push the button.”
I am determined to make more use of the incredible,
supernatural, magnificent, magnanimous, graceful help of my Lord than I have
before. Things in my recent life have been raw and scary and twisted and really
sometimes quite pathetic. I have felt so burdened and blinded, self-righteous
and selfish—and honestly so convinced of my own opinion on a subject that I
would physically choke any nay-sayers with my tiny bare hands (at least to
where they pass out. Don’t act like you’ve never felt that way.) But all I
really have to do is submit to prayer. Live the discipline, and my ON DEMAND
help will be delivered straight to my consciousness. It might not change my circumstances, but it
WILL change my perception. He can do that. I need to act like I believe that the Loving
Being who spoke all things into reality can, will, and will always listen to me. Especially when I’m not making sense to
anyone else. Especially when I’m so
knotted up in what I think and my “rights” that I can’t see straight. Even when
I want what is wrong, He can deliver right thinking. If you see me not acting
on this belief, call me on it. Demand it even.
Now, I’ve got more “Rehab Addict” to attend to. As always,
thanks for reading.
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