A Tale of Absurdity

Our story begins at 2:20 yesterday afternoon. I was on the phone with a friend when the phone went out. I thought that was odd and immediately started to panic that the serial killer is, finally, coming to end my woes, when I noticed that the cable box was flahsing “Loading”. Me being a lay person, meaning dummy, I think that we had a power surge. We are no strangers to these evil destructors of expensive electronics. I quickly remember that we have put heavy duty surge protectors on everything and anything worth our sanity, so I move on with my day.

I wrangle all the children upstairs to start the mad dash of getting Amber to dance class and satisfying all the whims of the 2 little ones, when I notice that the TV upstairs will not come on. The one thing that keeps me from locking small whiney children into a closet and putting myself into a Reese’s miniature butter cup coma, I remain calm. After I settle the kids to watch Seinfeld on the downstairs TV, (thanking my lucky stars that we put a surge protector on the beacon of quiet) I call the cable company. On a side note, I did not force them to watch Seinfeld. They all love Kramer. Who doesn’t love a buffoon?

I don’t have a great relationship with Cox cable. They are a lifeline to my sanity, so when they line is cut unexpectedly I tend to spew vial words to anyone on the other line. Since we pay them an obscene amount of money once a month, they deal with me the best way they know how: Switching me from one department to another until my head explodes and I am drooling into a cup in the corner, somewhere. But on this overcast afternoon, I got to a real person fairly quickly and my fears quickly were confirmed. There was nothing the person on the phone could do for me, so I resolved to turn in my cable box the next morning. Can I just tell you, that I never want to spend another night listening to one channel on my TV, again. I want to go back to my routine of falling asleep listening to the sweet sounds of Anderson Cooper. The boy is pretty, but not that interesting.

In the morning, I drop Amber off at school, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t spend the better part of my day in a room full of cranky Cox cable customers. Sam and I pull up to the office and walk into an empty room. SUHWEET!! I walk up to the counter, but stopped by a rather elderly security officer. For a moment, I think I can take him, but I have to wait to see how all this plays out. I do really want my TV back. The woman behind the counter, also, to tells me that I had to visit the little machine before I dare walk up to her. I mean how dare I walk up to her without going through an elaborate procedure first.

The security guard watches over me to make sure I don’t make a run for the counter again without inputting my phone number and reason why I have darken their door. After I go through the equivalent of being at home on the phone with Cox cable, I get a little ticket that reads C301. Let me remind you it is 8:30am and there is no one in the building. Where is A1-C300? Have they shriveled up and died from the wait or have they all been sent to Cox cable jail for not following this ridiculous series of acts. Sam and I, with the broken cable box under my arm, are the only people besides the security guard and the 2 women at the counter. All of sudden there is a voice from the beyond. I stop and wonder if I have died and this is indeed hell, but realize it was just some computerize voice telling me that I may now approach the woman behind the counter. You mean the one that DIDN’T HAVE ANYONE IN HER LINE OR WAITING IN THE CHAIRS? Yes, that would be the one.

And just like on the phone, I was asked the same damn questions that I just punched the answers in on the touch screen box. My only thought is that, now, my information is floating in cyber space somewhere waiting for the moment that it can be used against me. The woman even went so far as ask me if she could access my account, like on the phone. That always puzzles me, because who calls or waits in line for forever and a day and then says, “You know what? No, you can not access my account, but fix my problem, anyway.”

Oh, but there is more. She asks me what is my problem. Well, with all this technology shouldn’t she have known what my problem was since I just entered it into the box 10 FEET AWAY FROM WHERE WE WERE STANDING? I begin to think that Cox cable gets it’s jollies from making it customers not only pay high fees, but jump through hoops like a circus monkey. Fine, whatever, I really want to watch TV in my bedroom while I fall asleep and on those nights I wake screaming from my nightmares of Obama and Hilliary running the country. I go with the flow, all the while thinking that I am trapped in some insane comedy show where you never hear the laughter, but someone somewhere is getting their rocks off by watching all this. I am issued a “new” box and sent on my way with the pat on the head. I leave wondering what the hell kind of sicko developed that whole scene.

I don’t know whether the scratched cable box they gave me will answer all my dreams, because being the dummy I am, I can’t figure out how to hook the damn thing up. Hopefully, the husband will take care of that little detail in the near future. I will continue to sit here, scratch my ass and wonder how the world got so complicated and when did it become a crime to walk up to a service window WHEN THERE WAS NO ONE IN THE ROOM.