The Cable Guy

If I could do it all over again, I would have pursued a trade. Maybe become a hair stylist, but only if I could sit down while I cut.   A plumber might be good, but not if I had to put my hand in a toilet.  And I think I’m too afraid of getting shocked to become an electrician.  

But a computer technician would be a smart career.  They’re in high demand, likely employed for life.

When our internet service went down, I made the dreaded call to Verizon.  I should know by now that that’s not my best move.  Actually I do know that by now.  But it was my day off and my husband kind of dared me to do it, by implying that I would get eaten alive by Customer Service.  Remember, it’s not our computer.  Keep putting it back on them.  If only I knew exactly what I was putting back.

I’m pretty good in a tense situation.  I maintain my cool and don’t usually get too pissy.  But the flip side   is that I can’t always scare people into giving me what I want.  I don’t always have what it takes to get all up in anyone’s grill, especially when it involves a computer.

So I can’t get swept up in their good manners and exotic accents.  They are seated at desks, far away from my frozen DSL cable.  That alone should get me worked up, but it doesn’t.  They are so polite, talking to them feels very removed from my frustration at Verizon.  I know I need to stay focused on the problem, but I’m just not a good angry consumer. 

The really pleasant Anita doesn’t help matters. She never interrupted, and in fact waited at least 12 seconds before responding, saying things like “Ok now kindly go to your tools bar”  “OK, now please, if you will, click the Advanced Controls”   Soon I was carried away by her unending patience, feeling privileged to have met her.

Before I knew it, I was dripping with sweat, hooking and unhooking wires, listening to Anita’s polite voice from the speaker phone, directing me what to do.   While I fumbled with the tangle of cables, afraid to get a shock, I wondered how I had become a computer technician on my day off.  I also wondered why the computer technician was the only one not being paid for this call.  I think that’s what it took to finally get me angry. 

Folded over a file cabinet, my head hanging upside-down in back of the “tower”, I was searching for some wire that was supposed to plug into the router.  I was also searching for a filter on the phone and a reset button on the modem. 

I had stopped searching for the day off that had somehow slipped into cyberspace.  Actually, I think it had found the lovely Anita who was sitting at her desk calmly ordering me around, probably playing Solitaire.     

Megan Davis Collins successfully cleared a browser history and reset a modem, but that’s it.

Holiday Card Reflections

As I look at the end result, I wonder why I feel the need to drag my kids out into a dismal backyard scene of blowing snow and dilapidated fences to photograph them and then send it to our friends.

When they were really young, I couldn’t even think of getting organized enough to create a card.  I used to look at the ones sent to us: three smiling children in a row under a tree, hugging, laughing, frolicking, and wonder how they did it with such composure.  To create a holiday scene like theirs, I would have had to have hired a choreographer, stage manager and probably hair and make-up crew.

I became enticed by the images arriving in our mailbox.  How are these families so glowing and polished?  What do they feed their kids? We look like we’ve been camping for weeks.  When I finally convinced my kids to get their photos done professionally by a kind mom who volunteered for a local preschool (Thank you Denise Roberge and Little Learners) we became enchanted.  My daughter got in touch with her inner glamour girl, and my son just laughed.  That was the year I decided that we had what it takes to pull off a holiday card.

I obsessed for days over the color and design details.  My kids looked like they skipped right out of a Dickens novel and landed in a one-horse open sleigh.  We even added lightly falling snow.  It was a work of art.  And, it was the beginning of my love affair with the once-dreaded holiday card.  I went spastic, ordering about hundred and fifty of them.  I think we only had fourteen friends and twelve relatives.

So we sent them to unsuspecting businesses around town.  (Why would Rick from Chung King want our card? Or his comrades at Emerald Rose?)  

Over the years, I’ve toned down the preparation and staging. I like to capture my kids outside, organically and casually if possible.  (This year was neither)  Procrastinating made things feel rushed and forced.  And everyone had opinions about the holiday card.

After fretting needlessly that my son appeared forlorn, and my daughter’s hair didn’t look the way it usually does, I stood back and just took the snapshots…and then slowly lost control as the props in my holiday tableau came to life.  They didn’t want to wear a sweater, change a hairstyle, or even pose for some forced holiday scene.   They did, however, want to antagonize one another and compete for the dog’s affections with hidden meat-flavored bribes.   

The finished product–a compromise, not a masterpiece- reflects, not stellar choreography or gentle snowflakes,  but the essence of my children: an earnest young boy attempting to hide his dimples by not completely smiling, and his teenaged sister flashing a grin as she issues orders from her post beside the tree. 

And this is the year I decided that we may no longer have what it takes to pull off the holiday card.

Megan Davis Collins wishes you Happy New Year! megdavcol@gmail.com