My cable modem connection is down so I'm making posts and reading e-mail and surfing the net from my old AOL dial-up connection. If I make it to Monday without throwing my computer through the window in front of me, that will be a true Christmas miracle.
I called the RoadRunner people last night and told them I was having problems and they checked my signal from their office and told me that they couldn't come out until Monday but they happened to have someone in the area who could come out right then if I would be home. It was about 7:00 p.m. and I was between bars (had just left Crockett Street and was on my way to meet Terry and Dan at The West before going back out to Crockett Street, however we never made it back to Crockett Street - see next post) so I said, "Sure." I was thrilled.
About 10 minutes later, the "repairman" showed up. He came in, looked at my television downstairs, didn't speak two words, went upstairs and started yanking stuff off my shelves to get to my cable wires and started yanking on the cable wires. It's not that he was rude, he was just a man on a mission. I was freaking out because my shelves were wobbling and I could picture my computer flying sideways off my desk as he pulled frantically on the wires.
He left the wire pulling and went back downstairs as I wordlessly trailed him. Before I could make it downstairs, he was out my front door to check things out on the outside of my house. As I sat on the couch watching the Goof Troop Christmas Story on the Disney Channel (that's where he put it and I was afraid to touch anything), poof, my cable went out.
This time, when he came back in, he was moving much slower. He was no longer a man on a mission. He was now a man who had somehow managed to simultaneously make my digital channels inaccessible while in the process of not restoring my internet connection.
He asked, "Do you need this before Monday?"
I said, "Well, I don't want anyone to have to work over the Christmas holiday."
He said, "That's great. I know what the problem is, but the guy who could fix it has already gone home."
"No shit," I thought, "Of course you know what the problem is since you're the butt-face who just created it."
I went upstairs to put things back in order which butt-face had manhandled and as I shoved the big basket which holds my photo albums back onto my shelves, the ceramic mask on the top shelf came crashing down onto my wrist. No real damage was done but it hurt like hell.
I hope this isn't a preview of my Christmas weekend.