Monday, October 17, 2005

Ahh. Super.

Saturday morning I awoke to the very loud and uber-annoying moto ring of my only communication link to the outside word. The Cell. I groggily flipped open the phone and tried to modulate my voice into one not so closely associated with a 50-year-old smoker. A smoker who happens to have a penis.
"Good Morning Miss Birdsnest! I'm Captain McDouchey-Pants and my partner Lt. McDouchey-Pants and I are calling to confirm our 9am appointment to install your Comcast wireless internet and basic cable!"
"Will you be availabe to have your high-speed wireless internet and basic cable installed today at your previously scheduled time of 9am?"
"Uh, yeah."
I'm still moderately groggy and trying desperately to appear fresh and rested as opposed to tore down from my night of marathon "Friends" viewing and screwdrivers. The drinky kind, not the metally kind. Because normal adult females do not drink screwdrivers in the privacy of their own home, alone, while watching a third season marathon. They awake early, eager to start their day being fresh and cute and, if still single, begin The Prowl at coffee houses, newstands and cute breakfast shops.
So I click shut the phone and fall back onto my super delicious and comfortable bed. It's talking to me.* Telling me to go back to sleep. One does not have to put on clothes for the Comcast dweebs, it says. Just stay in bed until you hear them pull up. It will be fiiiine.
*Never listen when inanimate objects talk to you.
Five minutes later I convince myself that I do indeed have to get up because I would sooner cut off my arm than let strange people see my unmade bed. Forget reigning in the boobies, BED MAKING IS A PRIORITY, PEOPLE.
So I make the bed, pull back the hair, put on a bra (thank god, my knees were starting to chafe) and pull on yesterday's pants. Just as I'm swishing the oral fungi from my mouth, the Comcast truck pulls up. Then, as I'm unlocking the door, I see a second Comcast truck pull up.
I think, "Hnh. Weird."
I don't dwell on this thought long because Lilleeeee, my upstairs neighbor, is barrelling down the stairs so she can chill in the apartment with me while Comcast goes about its business installing shit. You know. To protect me. Because I'm a weenie.
The two McDouchey-Pants manage to carry themselves into the apartment while carrying wires, boxes and wearing tool belts with giant walkie-talkies that I assume are suppose to convey a sense of authority. A sense of "I TOTALLY know what I'm doing. I've got a TOOLBELT, duh."
I show them where the cable outlet is. It's in the bedroom closet. A completely ridiculous place for a cable outlet but I'm not the one who made that decision, now am I? So after showing them where the outlet IS and where it NEES TO BE they stare blankly at me, informing me that they just can't do that. I'll have to have written permission from my landlord.
"To install A CABLE OUTLET?" I ask.
Yes, I am informed. To install a cable outlet.
"Ok. Super. So why wasn't I told this ON THE PHONE when I made my appointment and every single ridiculous detail was examined and typed into some soul-less Comcast database??"
More blank stares.
"So what you're telling me is, I can't have cable unless I a) get written permission from my fuckwad landlord or b) decide to turn my bedroom closet into my very own entertainment center, complete with NO ELECTRICAL OUTLETS??"
"Er, yes."
So I think, screw the cable, I'll just get internet. I NEED the internet. I MUST HAVE the internet. So I tell Douche 1 and Douche 2 to install the wireless internet. I retreive my laptop and place it on the coffee table. Wherein Douche 2 looks at my pretty white macketymacmac and goes:
"Oh. They didn't cover those in training."
"What exactly do you mean 'they didn't cover those in training'?" I say.
"Well, um, I don't think our stuff works on those Apple computers."
"Well, uh, maybe they didn't know?"
"Yes. I suppose it would be confusing for the rep to ask what type of computer I have and for me to answer 'Apple ibook'."
Douche 1 then decides to make his presence known. I mean, I'd been concentrating all my efforts on Douche 2. He was being ignored. How dare I.
So Douche 1 takes my laptop and tries to mess with settings, mess with buttons, MESS WITH ALL OF IT and then finally makes his Word of God Announcement:
"It's too old."
"My ass it's too old. I bought it in April of last year. That makes it less than two years old. I. Don't. Think. So."
"Nope, it's definitely too old."
So I fume and bite the inside of my mouth while Douche 1 gets on his beep beep walkie talkie to confer with Corndog Bullwinkle on the other end. Corndog Bullwinkle expresses his confusion over someone owning a Mac. He asks what operating system I have. I tell him. His conclusion? It's too old.
So then Douche 2 has the brilliant idea that they can go ahead and install the cable and set up the wireless explaining that maybe I can find someone who knows how to set up a mac on Comcast internet. I stre incredulously at him, TOTALLY AMAZED THAT THOSE WORDS HAVE COME OUT OF HIS MOUTH.
"Well. Um."
Yeah. This is how my morning started. And let's not even TALK ABOUT the incident involving how my fuckwad landlord moved the rusted out water heater from her upstairs back porch to the 2-foot wide "alley" behind my apartment, placing it DIRECTLY UNDER MY WINDOW. Don't you worry. I called their answering service and made sure that Cody the Super Duper Answering Service Operator took down every. single. word. of my message. A message in which I used the phrase "fucking cunt" a total of four times. Why? Because I was SUPER EXCITED to see how I am now a Burger King drive-through. Please, give the fucking homeless rejects in my neighborhood a STEP STOOL into my WINDOW you FUCKING CUNT.
So anyway. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


Anonymous said...

I would love to see those boobies of yours. I have always been attracted to them.

Jenni said...

Like EWWWWWW....what's up with the nasty boobies comment?! It's so NOT COOL to think of all the weirdos that may be reading what we write on our blogs. Luckily my blog is so freakin boring that weirdos don't stick around long. Anyway Birdie, sorry that the comcast guys are such retards. But I must admit that the way you write it out totally cracks me up. And you should absolutley jerk a knot in your landlord's petutie over the water heater issue.

Murrye said...

ah, the joys of living downtown and in an old building (i'm assuming your apartment is, with that well planned wiring).

those comcast people are totally inept. if you have a landline, maybe you could check with sbc for dsl instead? i didn't have to deal with any annoying installations, they just sent me the modem. i have a PC, but maybe they're mac compatible. i mean, come on, it's a mac, not a crazy futuristic anal probe. nothing to be afraid of!

Sun Rider said...

My bro-in-law was getting satellite last month and the guys called from abut a hour away saying they were on their way. FOUR HOURS later they show up, almost 8:00 at night and the kids are asleep, and they still wanted to set it up that night! Would have taken them at least an hour or so to set up the dish. A-holes!

Oswald Croll said...

Birdie, have I taught you nothing with my ramblings and preaching. If you had NOT put a bra on (or shirt for that matter) they would have found a way to set up your cable, internet, fix your car, polish your floors, clean your windows, take out your trash, kill your landlord, and towed that crap out from under your window. My lessons fall on deaf ears.....

Sorry nothing went well..... you're still my fave.


Carl from L.A. said...

DSL and satellite TV are the ways to go - cable sucks. These days DSL cost about as much as dial-up, and hooking up DSL modem and router is almost like hooking up an answering machine to a phone - as long as all the cables go into the right holes, everything works.
For the same amount that I used to pay my cable TV, I am getting 120 channels via satellite, comparing to 50 on cable.

meghansdiscontent said...

Color me confused:

A - Who is the skeezy booby boy? Why am I alarmed beyond all reason?

B - Why did you not tell me ANY of these stories last night? And before you answer that, yes I was beyond inebriated by the time you made your appearance at the restaurant, but it just would have made me appreciate these stories even more.

C - Please tell me you really didn't refer to your landlord as a cunt.