Death by Computer Glitch, Cable Guy
Meets the Keystone Cops, Pt.3
Dateline: Washington D.C. Marriott Key
Bridge (Grrr…No hotel points for Mexico) Substitute Headquarters
Set-up: As we left our little adventure, Mark, Time Warner Chat Room Helper number 4, surmised that switching my Webmail account to a Windows Live account would require re-setting the arrangement manually. (So, not “a snap.”)
I plant myself back at attention backed up against the headboard. Crazy dog lands on my feet and Sammie Davis, Jr. snuggles in to help. We are ready. I’m determined to stay calm yet alert.
“I’m ready, Mark,” I type into the chat box. “What do I do first?”
“What kind of modem do you have?” he types.
“Beg your pardon there, Mark,” I type, “but what are you asking?”
“What is the brand of your modem?”
“Okay,” I type, “If you have to have the name. It’s downstairs amid tangled electronics, this will take a minute.”
“That’s okay, I’ll wait,” types Mark.
I lift Sammie Davis, Jr. off my lap, wiggle Crazy dog off my feet, and head downstairs. I locate a couple of pillows to go under my knees on the tile and crawl under my computer desk. I find the modem, get the name, and pull myself up using my desk chair which rolls out from under me. Thwack! Sammie Davis, Jr. licks my face. Someone cares.
A bit dizzy, I stagger back upstairs and crawl up onto the bed. Crazy dog settles on my feet and Sammie whines until he has his place back.
I type, “Modem is a Five Wire.”
Mark types, “Great! What is the service key?”
“Beg your pardon there, Mark, but what are you asking?”
Mark types, “It’s on the back of the modem.”
“Okay, it’s downstairs amid tangled electronics, this will take a minute.”
“That’s okay, I’ll wait,” types Mark.
Pillows under the knees again, crawling on the tile in the cord jungle, I reach the modem again. Well, no one told me the service key number would be etched on the head of a pin! I scoot out backwards, grab the rolling desk chair, spin across the room, and drag my dizzy self up to find my glasses. Which are upstairs, of course. While I’m there, I update Mark who assures me he’s in no hurry. I’m beginning to suspect Mark is paid by the hour and that he knits an entire sweater and writes a screenplay on each shift.
I repeat above steps amid the cords under my downstairs desk and report the forty-digit number to Mark.
Mark types, “I don’t show that service number matching a Five Wire.”
I type, “No?”
He types, “Please recheck the number.”
“Okay, it’s downstairs amid tangled electronics, this will take a minute.”
I show great restraint and do as I am told. I pop several Excedrin for the knee pain, stick a bottle of wine in the frig, then return upstairs and report into Captain Mark.
Mark and I chat back and forth while he works on the server connection problem. He tries four methods he says always work. After each one, Mark types, “Send yourself a test email.”
I do. Nothing happens. I report the failure.
Mark tries another sure fire method. He types, “Send yourself a test email.”
I do. Nothing happens. I type, “Mark, this seems to be a bigger problem than you first said.”
It was then that he placed the black sack over my head, positioned me along the wall, and fired the fatal bullet.
Just before he signed off, Mark typed, “Okay. Fine. Whatever! I am taking out your firewall.”
Just like that. He shot me. Executed me like a bug.
NEXT: SERIOUS POST ON HAVING A BETTER LIFE. YOU CAN YOU KNOW.
