Cox and me.

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Miss Carol and me woke up Sunday morning surprised by snow and no cable. Actually, we’d been out at a bar on Saturday night in the snow so that wasn’t as much of a surprise as seeing our cable laying curled up and dead in the middle of the road. 

I gritted my teeth and girded my loins and called Cox cable ’cause honestly? I think I’d rather have my eyeballs tattooed.

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I don’t know if it was the storm or a truck that blew through and snagged the cable but I suspect the latter because of the way everything was ripped from the telephone pole. 

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The first coupla minutes weren’t too bad. Cox’s auto attendant cheerily stepped me through some asinine troubleshooting nonsense- Is the TV turned on? Are ALL of the TV’s in the house experiencing the same problem? Has anything been changed or added?

This is after the same chirpy auto attendant had asked for my name, my address, my 10-digit phone number, and the last four digits of my social security number as if the data base caller ID hadn’t already downloaded all of your pertinent data.

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After about 10 minutes though, shit starts to fall apart and I began to get annoyed. I started to wonder if I really NEED cable TV. Or even really want it.

But then I remembered that our sweet internet access is riding on the same piece of coax.

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It was around the 20-minute mark that the seething anger started creeping in. I was mumbling and cursing when I saw Cutter and Tug and Miss Carol staring at me sadly and realized I had to go and start my day, which, since it’s Sunday, includes the ever-pressing Little House of Horrors and her constantly demanding prerequisite trip to Home Depot.

So I waved bravely, iPhone still crammed to my head, and air-kissed everybody goodbye.

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At 30 minutes I was hoping that everyone that works for Cox Communications and all of their families and friends would die some kind of hideous death too scary to even imagine. Something disgustingly terrifying and hopelessly insidious. I pictured all of their dead and ruined bodies hung dripping from tree branches, crows pecking at their sightless eyes while their children wailed and screamed mommy mommy. Or maybe, daddy daddy.

It was with these happy thoughts dancing in my head that finally, just as my iPhone battery and temper were about shot, just when I’m thinking that taking a rifle up into the tower might not be such a bad idea, a human answered-

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-Good morning and thanks for choosing Cox he chirped cheerily. Before we get started can I get your name, address, 10-digit phone number, and the last four digits of your social security number?

I sighed and gave him the same information that was on the screen pop in front of him.

Then he asks what problem I’m experiencing. When I say that a speeding truck has torn my cable drop off the telephone pole and that it’s laying curled up and dead in the street, he says OK, but before I can dispatch a service technician, I need to ask you a few questions-

Is the TV turned on? he asks.

Are ALL of the TV’s in the house experiencing the same problem? he asks.

Has anything been changed or added? he asks.

When I tersely answer each question- No, the cable is laying dead and curled up in the road- he finally says OK, I can have a service technician out between the hours of 5 and 7 pm on Monday.

MONDAY???!!!

So I say thank-you, silently hoping that he and all of his suffer excruciatingly, and hang up. 

And then I turned MR.GREENE. around, went back to Home Depot, bought the coax connectors, and fixed it myself.

Fuckers.

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2 responses to “Cox and me.

  1. –>I used to be that person who worked at the cable company and it’s Not easy. It paid well and since I worked summers, it reminded me why I needed to stay in college. That was when life was less complicated but having to explain over the phone how to hook up a television, cable box and VCR to drove me to drink. More.

  2. I know.
    I’ve been in the phone center environment and the cable-tech-guy environment and it all sucks and makes me laugh.

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