Meanwhile, in the Evil Empire of Cabledom…

So. This deal with my internet? Getting kind of old over here. We pay out the nose for reliable service, and every day for the last three weeks, my service waves bye-bye at the exact SAME TIME. Which would not be a problem, you know, if that happened at 3 AM when the insomniacs fapping to imaginary girls in WoW  are the only ones online, but nope. 11:00 AM, on the dot.

Every. Damn. Day.

So I call Customer Service this morning, and I’m forced to wade through 15 minutes of an automation before speaking to a real effing person. (And for the record, No necesito opciones en frigging Español, THANKYOUVERYMUCH.)


Unplug the router and the modem! They say.

I’ve already tried that, I say.

Try it again! They say.

I do that every day and IT DOESN’T WORK, I say.

Try it again! They say.

(Five minutes later…) It’s still not working, I say.

Well, you’re the only one in you entire neighborhood having that problem! They say.

Great to know Big Brother is watching out for me, I say.

We can send a technician out tomorrow between the hours of 1 and NeverGonnaEffingHappen! They say.

I’m not paying for that, I say.

Have a great day! Also, look for a rate increase on your next bill! They say.

My head is going to explode! I say.


And yeah, the technician I spoke to was really that cheerful. Like he was sipping a cup of decaffeinated tea and reading the Book of Mormon instead of listening to me explain that I had already tried unplugging shit. Because, of course I wouldn’t have thought of that all by myself. My inferior female brain couldn’t possibly comprehend that particular concept.

After all that, nothing was resolved. Obviously, I have service right now, but that’s only after an hour of giving my modem my version of the Italian Evil Eye and threatening to throw it into Dead Electronics Hell, from whence it should never, never return.

If I see another gorram Cabledom commercial between now and our scheduled service appointment–you know which one I’m talking about, the one with the upbeat music and adorable spacemen and helpful technicians–I might actually snap. Because the internetz, she is important up in here. I need muh Twitter and Netflix streaming video.

I eat your money in exchange for subpar service!

That’s what you call catharsis. I feel better after getting my rant on, but, um, nothing has actually changed. At least that vein in the middle of my forehead has stopped pulsing.

Image courtesy of Cox Cable.

About Chelsie

Mommy. Beauty product whore. Plastic lawn flamingo enthusiast. Nosy neighbor. One day novelist.
This entry was posted in Anger!, Ranty rant. Bookmark the permalink.

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