When Lightning...Or Something Else...Fries Your Cables

I wonder if my kids are ever curious about what it was like to grow up in the 1980s. They've never asked me about it. But if they ever ask me, "Hey dad--what was it like to grow up in the 1980s?" All I have to do is disconnect the cable and internet and they'll know.

That's what happened at our house yesterday.

Twenty-four hours, modern technology-free.

It was eye-opening.

Tuesday, during a thunderstorm, our cable went out, and when I say "out" I mean, we had nothing--no phone, no cable, no internet. We think it was lightning, but we're not sure. Usually, it's not a big deal, except I now work at home and require internet access to work. Nope. No dice. We called the cable company and there were no outages in our area. Normally, I don't want bad things (no cable...) to happen to others, but if it had been an area outage, a technician would have been dispatched immediately. Since it was just us, they couldn't send anyone out until twenty-four hours later.

 Bummer.

But, we endured. We persevered. We survived. I used my phone as a wifi hotspot to post my "Pic Of The Day" and my blog post. Thank goodness. Had that not worked, I would have had to go to the library or found another public wifi to do those things.

The tech came yesterday and diagnosed the problem. The cable--at the connection at the street and at the house--was fried. You could still smell the burned rubber a day later. They ran a temporary line and we had services again. Instantly, we were transported into the twenty-first century.

I'd like to think I'm not a slave to technology, that I could go a day without picking up my phone. Turns out, I can't, or if I did, it would be a miserable experience. So, whenever someone from my generation criticizes the younger generation for always being dependent on their devices, I think it's a universal problem. At least, for one day this week, it was for us.

"But I Still Love Technology..."

Kip Dynamite said it so well when, on his wedding day to LaFawnduh, he sang:

Yes, I love technology

But not as much as you, you see

But I still love technology

Always and forever

And so it goes. Can technology co-exist with relationships? For some, it not only co-exists, but--along with the person--is the only other thing in the relationship.

But this post isn't about that, not really. It has to do with a feature with our cable provider. You see, I can watch any channel for which we subscribe on my phone and/or iPad. I see people on the buses and trains watch a lot of shows on their phones, but I really don't do that. Commute time's for reading. What I like most of all with this cable feature is that I can casually watch sports while I'm doing other things (like writing blog posts, short stories, and novels...). Plus, since I don't have the sound on, it's a great way to keep track of a game without really watching it. I don't know if other people us this feature the same way, but it's great for us.

And so, currently the Jazz are down by seven in the second. Hopefully, they'll turn it around. Either way, I'll be able to get some editing done--that novel's not going to edit itself.

The Comcast Experience...And Its Sequel

Pick A Number...a rule for all of us...the first rule. As a customer of our local cable company, the famous (or infamous...) cable boxes assigned to our account were performing at a less than stellar level, so today we decided to turn them in for new ones.

Our first trip to the local Comcast Customer Service location began at 10am this morning. It took a little more than 1/2 hour to complete our business, after which we came home with two new boxes (one new...one that looked to be older than the one we dropped off). We brought them in, hooked them up, and we were good to go...briefly. The one box didn't work. 

After several calls to the Comcast Customer Service Call Center (which, I found out, was located in Washington State...) it was determined the only way to fix our "new" box was to return it and begin the whole process all over again.

Round 2 at the service center began around 3pm, and this time, the place was packed. I quickly grabbed a "Pick A Number" number. I found a place to sit down in the corner and I patiently waited to see which number would be called next. They had no customer service-esque number display on the wall, so listening for the next number was my only way of knowing who would be next. 

And then I heard the number called out for all to hear. "55," the clerk behind one of the desks said to the masses of humanity all awaiting their delayed entertainment. 55 and I held 70. Oh well...I had no other option but to ride it out.

Surprisingly, the wait was not that long. I escaped and left the many patrons--several colorfully festooned with a myriad of tattoos--waiting for their number to be called and I came home. Once the many cables were secured to the shiny new marvel of modern technology, we turned on the TV and visual nirvana was ours once again. All was right with the world, and it only cost me a couple of hours of my time...