I like to think I am a pretty level-headed person. I still am fairly sure that the world would be a better place if run by a consortium of room mothers, but I'm aware that that sensible choice is beyond the comprehension of most of the population. We are, in general, victims of the triumphant lowest common denominator. Stupid reigns.
Today I had a problem with my cable TV. While attempting to coordinate a couple functions involving the television, it became clear that our cable box was incapable of working in concert with our TV, our Apple TV receiver, and our brand-new universal remote which is capable of controlling everything in our household save the cat.
One would think that the logical course of action would be to call our cable and internet provider. However, the phone number appears to be a closely-guarded secret; the preferred contact mode is via the internet. And so, the games begin. First, there is the problem of logging in. Three years ago, when we last moved, we were given an email and password when the technician came to install our cable and hook up the box and our phones. I have not used either email or password in that period of time, making it pretty difficult to recall. (There was a helpful note about what to do if you did not recall your username, but that required an account number. Oops. I pay online, and can't imagine where or when the last paper bill I received might be, so that I could find the account number.)
I vaguely remembered a TV ad that recommended calling 1-800-(company name) to get service. So I called. When I explained my problem, I was told that I needed to take my cable box to the nearest service center. Thank you and goodbye. Wait! Wait! Where is that??? Dead air.
We found the service center, thanks to the internet. John and Mary were manning two windows. John was in earnest conversation in Spanish with a young man approximately his age, and I don't think it was about cable service. More like where they planned to go that night. Mary, meanwhile, was working with the office manager of the nearest office building, no doubt arranging cable service for each desk in the complex. Finally, a third person came out of the back to occupy another window, and the line began to move. I was ultimately told that the box with the input/output ports I needed did not exist, but they could give me a newer model of the box I already had. The new black box looked better than the industrial taupe one I'd carried in, so I took it and left. I was given a receipt with what I was told were two important numbers: the serial number of the box, and my account number. All right!
Home again. Hook up the box, then...it had to be activated. Back to the internet. THIS time, I had my account number and could get my password. Yeah, right. Typed in the account number--three groups of numbers, marked on the receipt as 'Account #'--you'd think that would do it. Nope. "That number is not a valid account number." Back to the 800 number, where I finally got some help. It seems that the number on my receipt omitted the leading zeroes in each group of numbers. I did not ask why. I just retyped the account number WITH zeroes, and managed to get the box activated.
This has consumed the greater part of the morning. After lunch, we discovered that, while the cable box seemed to be doing its job, there were certain channels among our 200+ channels that did not appear when selected. Instead, we got a blue box onscreen saying that that channel would be available shortly. We waited shortly and tried again. Same blue box. Then we waited long-ly. Same blue box. Then we entered the 5th circle of hell: the analyst chat online.
I will not attempt to describe in full the conversation, no, dialogue I took part in. Suffice it to say that it lasted about an hour and was punctuated with long silences on the part of the 'analyst'. Perhaps that was due to the long transmission feed time between here and the Indian subcontinent. Additionally, there was more repetition involved than in the singing of a Latin funeral Mass in Gregorian chant. After three repetitions of my problem, three feedback repetitions (from the analyst) of MY repetitions, and innumerable offers to talk to me later about upgrading my cable service, it appeared that finally, the 'Sherilee' designation had been passed to a technician, who then asked me if the power was on to the cable box. (No...you mean I have to plug it IN????) Then, please check all the connections and make sure they are nice and tight. (Really??? I really like to leave them hanging by a thread so that I can jiggle them around for that neat little wave pattern I get onscreen.) Then, do I see any change? (You mean, has my blood pressure reached explosive stage? Yes.) Could I remove the HDMI cable? (I COULD, but why the hell would I want to? But okay, I will play. Yes. I could.) Please remove the HDMI cable. ("Sure, I will." NOT ON YOUR !@#$%&!! LIFE.) Then, reconnect it snugly. (Ha! I knew it!) Do you see any change?
At this point, I idly started to click around the channels again, and my channels had reappeared miraculously. So I said yes, the channels were back, and goodbye. But wait! They hadn't had a chance to tell me how I could enjoy my cable service more! (More than spending a day online with a bunch of idiots???? You're kidding me!) And, they needed to tell me what they had done for me today! (What part of 'absolutely nothing' do you not understand?) Out of curiosity, I waited to read what they thought they had done and it said that they had solved my problem by detaching and reattaching my cable. Yup. The procedure that I HADN'T performed was what had solved the problem, all right. There followed a long paragraph about the general wonderfulness of their customer service and how they are available to fill my every need, 24/7. They may not do anything but read a script and spew pleasantries, but they ARE there, I do not doubt.
Excuse me. I need to lie down for a bit and think of anything but cable TV.
