I know. I know. I’ve slacked on the writing.

I’ve been busy.

In case some of you have been wondering what I’ve been up to lately, I’ve been remodeling my new apartment. That probably doesn’t sound like much to most people, but I am now living on a 5,000 square foot floor of a rather old building, and this has been no easy task. I just moved in last weekend, and just turning it from a total dump into a semi-tolerable living space has been a chore. I have been lucky enough to receive all kinds of help from family and friends, and I can’t thank them enough. It’s actually starting to look like I can live here and not die from some random carcinogen or hepatitis. Things are looking up.

The annoying part of the whole thing? Bringing professionals into the mix. Why is it that the people who are trained to do specific things don’t want to do them? I know we’ve gotten a bit softer as a people, but I had no idea it was *this* bad. Let’s start with the power company, shall we?

When I first called to set up my electricity and gas, the folks at the power company didn’t seem to interested in setting me up. It eventually got done, but they spent more time trying to sell me cable or satellite TV service.

I’m not kidding. I kept trying to push them off, but they were adamant. All I wanted was gas and water. I finally had to tell them that I would figure it out later, and they could call back if they wanted. You’d think that would be enough trouble right there.

But, no.

Getting them to come out to the house is a whole other ball of wax. First they tell you that they will be there on such and such a date between 8am and 4pm. Hey, that’s all day! How great is that? That’s exactly what *I* want to do. Sit up in an unfinished dirthole all day, waiting for Bob The Builder to show up.

Guess what happens then?

That’s right. They don’t show up I had to call them at least four times to get my meters read so I could get my service activated. Then they would tell me that I wasn’t there. I asked the dispatcher if Bob the Builder carried a phone, and she said no. This blows my mind. I understand that Bob has a radio in his truck. I get that. But it sure would be nice to *talk* to Bob before he abandons me. Better yet, let’s say Bob is in a car accident and gets thrown from his truck. I’ll bet you he can’t reach his radio from the ditch. Of course this assumes he’s still conscious, but you get my point.

More than that, when they finally did come and turn on my utilities, they didn’t turn all my gas on. ( I have four meters.) This means that not all my rooms have heat. So I’m sitting here freezing my butt off, and the Power Nazis aren’t scheduled to come out here again until Thursday. So, the cycle begins again. I hope they show up. I’m too awesome to die. It took me a good fifteen minutes to convince them to even come out and turn the meters on. “Yes, all four are mine. I know it’s a lot for a residence. Turn them on before I kill you.”

Incidentally, I have to ask this question:

Why is it that no matter what residential service company you call, the phone is always answered by the dumbest black woman on earth?

Don’t give me any crap. You can tell the difference between black and white dialects. Darth Vader said it best. “Search your feelings; you know it to be true.” Therein, lies the rub.

It’s not racist if it’s true.

Besides, the dumb white women work at the mall.

Next, we have the cable company. This will be short and sweet. Essentially, two nimrods show up at my place, take a look around and say, “We don’t even know how to get cable in here.
Interesting.

My building has 4 walls and a roof. I must be missing something. Since I am not a professional cable installer, there is obviously some nuance I’ve failed to notice. I figured you could just drill some holes and run some cable. I’m a computer technician. I know these things.

Step one: Make hole.
Step two: Insert wire into hole.
Step three: Connect wire to entertainment device.

Please don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.

As it turns out, there is no cable on my block, and they won’t put a box in. We have to go with a dish. I think that’s dumb, because there is cable one block down, but whatever. I’m a neophyte, right?

So, the “Dish Dude” comes out. I call him dude because he looked like a “High Times” subscriber, and he talked like one too.
What’s the first thing he says to me? “I can’t do this. I wouldn’t know where to begin, and I don’t even have a large enough drill it to get through the wall.”

This is patently absurd. When you don’t have the tools necessary to complete a job, you acquire the tools you need. I told him this. That’s the whole idea behind hiring a professional, you know. Essentially what is going to happen is that I have to run the cabling myself, and Stoner Boy will come back out and finish the job. He left a big spool of cable in my foyer and took off.

I’m not making this up.

Lastly, let’s talk about the phone company.

I am now praying to God, that even though I am a capitalist, if He chose to get back into the “smiting” business, I’d be more than okay with that, and I ask that He please put the phone company on the list.

You see, the building I now occupy is what could be considered “technologically absurd”. We have multiline phones in the bathrooms, for God’s sake. This, is unnecessary, in my view. However, the root of our problem lay in the way the system is connected. The existing phone system is wired through a PBX, (Look it up.) and PBX systems are incompatible with standard telephones and DSL Internet connections. The solution to this is to bypass the PBX, and run a new line straight from the connection box to your new phones.

But, we couldn’t find the right line in the box. (Don’t ask, just trust.)

When I called the phone company, (after getting through their 25 prompt menu system,) It took me fifteen minutes to explain the problem to…you know who.

Anyway, she tells me that they are going to charge me $70 to have a technician come out, plus an additional $25 for every fifteen minutes he is present. I told the woman what I thought of her, and her company’s shoddy practices, and I hung up.
It took my roommate a day, but he found the line, and fixed it himself.

Our kingdom for some real help.

Work ethic in America is dead.

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