Author: Big Mama

Some day when I look back on the end of 2009 and the beginning of 2010, I will remember it as that time when technology tried to kill me. I feel like every week there is a new technological glitch in my life that really makes me long for a simpler time when all a girl needed was a new slate board and a piece of chalk.

Over the weekend I noticed our T.V. was acting a little funny. Actually, it wasn’t the T.V. but rather our Dish Network service. All of a sudden the screen would freeze in the middle of a show or the DVR would stop in the middle of a recorded program like it was over even when it wasn’t. I didn’t know what was going on so I resorted to my time-honored solution for all technical problems and unplugged the receiver and plugged it back in again.

And it totally worked.

Until it didn’t.

It seems that the old unplugging maneuver only works so many times before the Dish receiver starts making sounds like it’s going to explode and all you can think about are the episodes of Chuck and 24 you have recorded and OH THE HORROR if you lose them.

Yesterday afternoon things reached a crisis point and I realized I could no longer avoid making a call to Dish Network’s customer service. I believe I’ve mentioned there is nothing I dread more than dealing with any sort of technical customer service. I rank it up there with being punched in the stomach or realizing that stores are actually selling acid-washed jeans again.

I’m looking at you, Forever 21.

But I am a fan of the television. So I picked up the phone, dialed the Customer Service number, looked at the T.V. and whispered, “This is for you, baby. It’s all for you.”

Naturally I had to push 1 to let them I know I wanted the call in English. And 2 to clarify that it was a service issue. When I finally got a real live person on the phone, I explained the situation and how I’d already unplugged it and plugged it back in several times. Because that’s their answer for everything which makes me feel like I may have missed my calling in tech support.

The guy asked if the T.V. was showing an error message. I explained it was earlier but was working now. That was the wrong thing to say because without the error code that holds the keys to the kingdom, he couldn’t help me. He suggested I call back the next time I received an error message.

So I did. FIVE MINUTES LATER.

I made note of error #224, picked up the phone and went through the five stages of grief while I waited to talk to a real live person. AGAIN. When I finally got someone on the phone, he asked me for my error code.

OH I’ll GIVE YOU MY ERROR CODE. IT’S 224.

He told me that I needed to unplug the receiver, wait thirty seconds and then plug it back in. Seriously, are people getting paid to dole out this kind of advice? As if the whole “Pants on the Ground” phenomenon wasn’t enough to make me question where we fall intellectually as a society, the Dish Network customer service sealed it for me.

I politely explained that I’d already done that oh, I DON’T KNOW, 500 times in the last five days, but I did it again because I was trying to be a compliant customer. So I unplugged the receiver and said, “Okay, I just unplugged it.”

He replied, “Okay. Let’s wait thirty seconds and then plug it back in.”

“Alright”

Awkward silence.

Then, out of the blue, he says, “While we’re waiting, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” (Thinking we were heading towards a complicated series of technical questions.)

“When is it too late to file your taxes for the year? Is it March 31st?”

Are you kidding me? I’ve called you because I need to watch 24 and find out how many times Jack Bauer yelled at Chloe last night and you want me to answer your tax questions?

I answered, “April 15th.”

“Oh really? Man, I didn’t know. I’ve had, like, a lot of different jobs this year and I had this one where I only made $15.00 and do you know if I need to count that on my tax forms? What if I don’t mail them in on time? Is there a penalty? Like, can I go to prison?”

At this point I seriously thought someone must have hijacked my phone line and was playing the most brilliant practical joke in the history of ever.

But it was no joke.

So I played the role of E.F. Hutton and explained all the ins and outs of the American tax system and how the IRS takes these things very seriously and how a person just needs to make sure they have all their necessary information mailed by midnight on April 15th.

And then he asked, “How do you know if your post office is open until midnight?”

I know you will find it as SHOCKING as I did that he wasn’t able to help me at all with my television issues, but hopefully he will be all square with Uncle Sam thanks to my tax tips and that’s really the most important thing. Nevermind that the United States wouldn’t even exist anymore if it weren’t for Jack Bauer and his ability to stop major terrorist attacks SEVEN different times in a twenty-four hour period.

I bet he could fix my DVR.

Last night P and I turned on the T.V. as if we were playing the lotto. COME ON, BIG MONEY. But no luck. We did the whole plug/unplug thing to no avail and ultimately accepted that 24 wasn’t going to happen for us. In fact, television wasn’t going to happen for us.

And I was so frustrated because I had attempted to be proactive and remedy the problem with the receiver before it turned into a full blown issue, yet was thwarted by one young man who needed an error code before he could do anything and another young man who could benefit from a tax seminar.

I picked up the phone and called Dish Network. Again.

This time I got a nice boy named Shaun (Shawn?) on the phone. I explained my DVR issues, the unplugging and the replugging, the freezing of live T.V. in the middle of a show and he said, “Let me verify your address and we’ll ship a new receiver to you tomorrow.”

Was that so hard?

I believe the answer is yes. Yes it was.

At some point over the weekend, Caroline developed a cough. She didn’t seem to necessarily feel bad and never had any fever, but it just sounded like the kind of vague childhood cough that could either turn out to be nothing or end with the two of us in a steamy bathroom in an attempt to help her breathe better while I mentally flog myself for not taking her to the doctor sooner.

By Sunday night I still couldn’t tell which way the cough was going to go, but she said she FELT FINE and, also, COULD I PLEASE STOP LOOKING AT HER WEIRD EVERY TIME SHE COUGHED. So I made the executive decision to give her cough medicine before bed and then just let her sleep until she woke up Monday morning and figure out what to do from there.

She woke up yesterday morning around 8:15 and immediately asked, “Is it late? Am I late for school?”

“Yes, baby. I decided to let you sleep in because I wanted to make sure you weren’t getting sick.”

“WELL I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS AT ALL. I WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yes, I feel fine and if I miss school then I won’t get my free ice cream.”

Because she hasn’t missed a day of school this year, she’s discovered that you get a certificate for free ice cream from McDonalds for each nine week period with perfect attendance. And, clearly, free ice cream trumps possible pneumonia.

Ultimately I agreed that she seemed to be fine and so I drove her to school where she was about an hour late, but the whole thing kind of threw my day off. I guess I expected to be home all day with a sick kid and I just never rebounded into doing anything productive. Or maybe I was just so stunned that a child who shares my DNA would be so eager to go to school as opposed to milking her ill health.

Anyway, the rest of the day flew by and all of a sudden I looked at the clock and realized it was time to go pick her up. I hurriedly threw on my shoes, grabbed my purse and made sure that I had my phone. There is nothing that makes me crazier than to realize I’ve left my cell phone at home. It’s like being instantly transported back to the paleolithic era known as the early 90’s when people weren’t completely accessible at all times and had social skills beyond sitting at a table with someone and texting the whole time.

I picked Caroline up and told her we could go to Sonic because I know how she loves the Mozzarella Sticks and I know how I love a Route 44 Diet Coke. So I ordered our food and then drove up to the window where I began to dig in my purse for my wallet.

And while I was looking, this is what I found.

Apparently I am no longer content with just making sure I have my cell phone, but feel the need to carry around my home phone as well.

Idiot.