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May 31, 2006
Comcast, Why Must Thee Hate?
There are three pieces of pink paper sitting on our table. Three receipts of service from our friendly Comcast technicians. Further, each slip commemorates the arrival of a new DVR box into our home. Three pink pieces. Three DVR boxes. Did I mention that we collected this trio in just under a week and a half?
Now, let's be honest. Our household has some deep issues with Comcast Cable. In fact, Noel would be eager to point out that he is full of loathing for this telecommunications whale. But, after several months of correct billing cycles, uninterrupted service, and, um, 7 channels, we were ready to trust again. And, let's be honest; we needed the ESPNs for the World Cup.
Our pink paper collection process began:
There was Short Dude. In his thickly heeled boots, he came up to my shoulder, and I had to offer him a chair -- for standing -- so that he could reach our cable box. That was Box #1. We'll call it Frank. Sadly, Frank -- like his namesake -- hated soccer. Instead of politely recording and playing back the Champions League final, Frank was spiteful. Frank stuttered, stalled, and repeatedly died.
We called in the big guns. Hulk Hogan and his back-up, Mr. T came. They gave us a new box, Ted, and then hung out for forty-five minutes while they double checked, tested, and waited for everything to download. Hulk Hogan told me that he ran youth camps in Ukraine. Then, he lowered his voice, and told me, quietly, that his true love was cartooning. I liked him. Mr. T shared his own Comcast-related angst. He was not down with the current restructuring. I liked him too.
The box, Ted, seemed to adjust well to his new home. He worked for a while. He let us watch things. He let us record things. Then came the blue screens with error messages. The unresponsiveness to direct button pushing. The false accusations of having a full memory card.
Taupe Crayon Man came yesterday. Not the brightest crayon in the box. He stared at the blue error screen for a while. "I have no idea what that means," he told me. Further staring ensued, followed by a quick unplug-replug action. "That's the weirest thing I've ever seen," he muttered. (Sheltered life, apparently.) After puttering about for a while, he gave up and decided to give us a new box. Out went Ted, in came Box #3.
I'm not naming this one until he's been here for a month.
Carefully Dramatized Life Accounts | By elissa | 12:26 PM
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Comments
I despise that company for a number of reasons... including (but not limited to) billing problems, service connection issues, the fact that their customer service cussed me out once for no discernable reason, false advertising in relation to their "high-speed" internet service, etc. etc. etc.
Posted by: Ron at May 31, 2006 01:01 PM
I'd suggest Direct TV, except that it doesn't work in inclemental weather, which means in south Florida you may not have any channels from 1:30 to 6 every afternoon. My guess is that the fog of Lookout Mountain/Chattanooga may cause similar problems.
We here at Manville SF hope that it does not rain from June 9 to July 9.
Posted by: Luther at May 31, 2006 05:11 PM
at least you're getting it taken care of. I'm still not sure how I'm going to get to see it.
Posted by: ryan at June 1, 2006 11:38 AM
Why must you offend against the great cable gods? Do you think such perfidy will go unpunished? Mastema, for that is his name, will truly be a cable box of awful divine vengeance...
Posted by: macey at June 1, 2006 03:00 PM
