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 As a subscriber to digital cable I have accepted that frustration, contempt, irritation and chagrin are all feelings I will have to tolerate on a somewhat regular basis. However, embarrassment and resentment are two feelings I had hoped a pricey cable package would help me to avoid. Such is not the case with Comcast.

Yesterday, upon returning home from daily errands i.e. smoking cigarettes at Starbucks, I made the obvious choice to sweatsuit up and pour myself into a pile on the couch. Daytime television is sadly lacking in substance or entertainment value, so I switched to MSNBC for some background information whilst I perused the Internet. Oh no! MSNBC is all pixelly and the audio is all effed up. Obviously I should switch to a rerun of The Crocodile Hunter. Still a shitty picture? How about some On Demand. Free movie section? Why of course!

Scrolling along, my eye catches a real late 80’s gem–Litte Monsters! Starring Fred Savage, Daniel Stern and Howie Mandel in a coming of age story about a boy who discovers a whole new adventure in the monster world under his bed, and makes some great new friends along the way. Nevermind the part that the kid is clearly descending into hell or that Howie Mandel is clearly on meth. . . At any rate, Little Monsters doesn’t work either. It’s obviously time to make the call.

 

“Thank you for calling Comcast. How can I help you?”

“Yea. Hi. Uhhh, my like picture on the screen is like all pixelly. Like, you know, pixels, well instead of a picture it just looks like that, like pixelly. And it freezes sometimes, like with the pixelly parts up. And the auditory is all wrong, or silent sometimes, I mean audio. I like, can’t even watch TV like this. Aaaaanndd also, On Demand won’t work properly.”

 

“I’m sending out a signal now. What do you see on the screen?”

 

“Uhhhh, well, Steve Irwin was trying to walk through some trees. He’s like frozen on the right side of the screen. It looooookksss liiike maaaybe he’s approaching some type of large game, but I caaaan’t really tell for sure.” Apparently not the answer “Rhonda”–who asked me for my name for “conversational purposes”–wanted, she made an appointment for a technician to see me this morning.

In the interim, however, the cable managed to de-pixelate itself. Never one to worry about the inconveniences of others, I didn’t bother to call Comcast back to report this digital miracle. Rather, I got baked and watched Little Monsters.

At 8:30 a.m., a time I’m not on good terms with, my phone rings, informing me that a Comcast Technician will be over shortly. I fall back asleep and wait for someone to pound on my door. At 9:00 a.m., said pounding occurs. Upon pulling on floor clothing. I answer the door and welcome this total stranger into my home. As I begin to describe the cable situation I realize, that the man I’m speaking to, is deaf. A fact I quickly remembered knowing, as the lady who called and confirmed my appointment minutes earlier had told me “the technician is hearing impaired.”

How the fuck do you convey the message “My picture is all pixelly and the audio is like, effed up to” to someone without using words? Fortunately, as I mentioned before, the cable had already repaired itself, so my repetition of the word “pixelly” while making squarish shapes with my hands in front of my face, moving them around and alternating eye squints, was moot. We diiiid manage to have a “conversation” about my Pee Wee Herman doll and how often I water my cactus, which is never. And yet, he was kind enough not to turn the bong, the half a dozen Diet Coke cans or my inability to appropriately fasten my own pants into conversation pieces. 

The lessons learned here are infinite, but none are so poignant as this. . .

FACT:  I am less capable of obtaining a communications related job than a DEAF guy with a high school education. No, thank YOU American University.