Ring My Bell

Oh Comcast, how you torment me so! You know I need you. You know the alternatives to you are minimal and complicated, at best. You know you’ve got me right where you want me. You abuse your power, Comcast. I’m ashamed of you.For a while there, it felt like we were making up. The honeymoon period had been revived. I was connecting with ease to the internet and my cable was reliable. . . It was nice while it lasted.

It seems that even the best laid plans go to waste when you’re involved, Comcast. I called you way in advance, letting you know I was moving and was even going to upgrade my service. We made a date. I wrote your name in pen in my day planner. I was so looking forward to your visit.

Then the day came for you to arrive. I woke up early, excited to see your name in red and black on the side of the white van parked out front of my building. I watched from my second floor apartment as you put out your orange cone and readied yourself to come upstairs. I watched you walk across the street, clipboard in hand, anticipating the ring of my buzzer. Seconds turned to minutes and yet there was only silence in my disheveled apartment. Where were you?

I saw you return to your van, replace your orange cone to the back of your van and sit in the driver’s seat. If you had looked up you would have seen me looking forlorn and worried out the second floor corner window. Why weren’t you coming upstairs? Were you not my technician? Should I run down and accost you? Would you think me mad?

I called the help line where they informed me that you didn’t have a note on the order telling you it was a secure building. They told me that’s why you didn’t ring my bell. The logic of this escapes me. It says my apartment number. Why wouldn’t you ring it? Instead you called my cell and unfortunately, the record showed my old number so you weren’t able to reach me. Did that upset you, Comcast? Is that why you drove away?

Why do you have to break my heart like this every time, Comcast? Don’t I pay you on time? Don’t I give you enough attention? Don’t you want my love? Or are there so many other takers that I’m disposable?

Sigh.

After several calls, you finally arrived hours later than originally planned. Being spiteful, I decided I didn’t need to pretty myself up for you. Sweats with the hole in them, ragged old t-shirt, no bra or make up. I was looking haggard. Turns out it didn’t matter. You barely acknowledged me except to call me “Ma’am”- it’s like they teach you how to hurt me. Ouch! And what about the ass crack? Was that just a special bonus for being such a patient customer? That was a whole LOT of ass crack. You shouldn’t have. No, really.

You shouldn’t have.

The good news is- you are gone and we only need to speak via electronic measures. And I have a DVR. All is right with the world again.