Time Warner Cable and I got into a fight. We broke up. So I ordered DirectTV. Everything was gonna be great. The series of comedic twists and turns that have become involved in the process of getting (and now losing) DirectTV tell me that I am never meant to have DirectTV. The Saturday that the installers were scheduled to show up happened to be a sunny and 75 degrees sort of day. So I threw on my swimsuit and went out by the pool to lay out. I was out by the pool for a mere 30 minutes when they called to tell me they are on their way. That’s when I asked the question (not the installers, obviously, but to myself), “Is it too porny to say, ‘Hello cable installers, feel free to make yourself at home and get to work. I’ll just be over by the pool sunbathing.’?” I solicit some advice via text. Advice ranges from, “Just don’t make them a drink then take a shower with the door open” to “YES WE CAN!” (ummm, thanks?) Add to this the fact that I assumed the dish would go on the roof of my apartment which is about fifty feet above and to the left of the pool, thereby upping the awkwardness. I decided to forgo any further sunbathing to save the dignity of everyone involved. The installers showed up and I told them that I would just take my laptop to the pool and if they needed me or had any questions, feel free to come get me. A mere 40 minutes later, they came over to tell me that they are done. I wondered why I never noticed them on the roof but I figured I was reading one of the two trillion “25 Things” I got tagged on. I walked back to my apartment to discover that they had INSTALLED MY SATELLITE DISH ON THE HANDRAIL OF MY FRONT STEPS! Short of just propping it against a cinderblock or just leaving it hanging from the first floor window, they found the shoddiest way to install the dish.
Fast forward to a week later. I am excited to watch the Mavs vs. Jazz game that night. But it was not to be. My satellite was not receiving a signal. I tried resetting it. I tried unplugging it. Finally, I went outside and found that an extremely obese cat was sleeping in my satellite dish. He’s a local stray and I call him Acid Test due to some truly bizarre behavior he has exhibited. At the risk of losing a finger or two, I rouse Ol’ Acid Test from his opium haze and shift him from the dish. But, as I later found out, the weight of one neighborhood cat caused a thin cable to break. Which probably is not as big of a risk for people whose satellite dishes are not easily accessible to cats who just have to be able to get up on their hind legs. So no, I didn’t see the Mavs embarrassing loss to the Jazz. In fact, I didn’t see any TV until they came out to fix my dish on Saturday. Notice I said “fix” and not “move” there, right? Well, I got that taken care of too. Just not how I had planned.
I got home from work yesterday to be greeted by the sight of my satellite dish sitting on my back steps. Could a cat summon the strength needed to drag a satellite dish from the front steps of my apartment to the back door? Is this like when cats bring you dead mice and birds as gifts? There was a note on my door. The note was written by the property manager of my apartment complex which shall remain nameless. Let’s just call it the Bourtyards at Bnox at the corner of Knox and McKinney. I think what the letter was trying to tell me was that no one is allowed to have satellite dishes. And let’s be honest, this was a satellite dish that was attached to a handrail so I will take her side on this one. I say I think I know what the letter was saying because the letters from our complex manager usually read like a transcript of an episode of Cops if you took out all the officer’s dialog. So now I have a dish with wires hanging from it. And no TV and no way to get TV because Time Warner is the only cable company that serves the area.
So tonight I will go to Vickery Park where The Riverboat Gamblers are playing and pretend that I am there to see them and catch up with my old buddies in the Gamblers. But I will actually just be there to watch the game. Sorry guys.
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