Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

Sometimes you feel like a nut (click here when you are done reading), other times you just feel like a stupid moronic idiot. Is that redundant hyperbole? Here is the scoop, Sunday, the Internet slowed to a crawl. It was so slow, I was wishing for a 56K dial up to speed it up. Remembering what the cable company has told me in the past, I followed the steps.

1. Unplug the cord going to the cable box, wait 10 minutes
2. Unplug the cord going into the electric outlet, wait 10 minutes.
3. Reboot the computer. 
4. Done
5. Done 
6. Done

Great, now the lights on the cable box are lit up at all. It died. Its little lights were flickering so faintly in nonsensical patterns. Maybe it was Morse code for SOS. I used to know Morse code back in my Cub and Boy Scout days, but that was too many decades ago to retrieve the information from. I should have paid it more attention. I should have realized something was wrong. Now is not the time to should all over myself. It is too late for should haves. 


It was new just July 2010. What is the lifespan of a cable box? Did we use it to death? Are we cable box murders? Will there be a special place in Hell for people like us? Maybe a room filled with the latest forms of technology, but there are no wall outlets and all of the batteries are dead. The nightmares started immediately, even as I was on the phone calling the cable company, the early symptoms of withdrawal were apparent. My mouse finger started twitching uncontrollably like it was clicking on Internet links that weren't there. Suddenly, I had thoughts of 57 different things I had to check on the Internet, before the slap of reality hit me hard once again. No Internet for you. 


Amazingly, the cable people answered within minutes and on a Sunday too. The person spoke excellent English. She ran me through the list of things, but I told her she was speaking to a veteran. I had done it all twice or more, but there is no life left. She ran diagnostics from her end. She could not detect any life either. She was sending out a technician. On Monday. Only between 1:30 and 4:30 pm. I was so grateful, I was almost close to tears. What the hell were we supposed to do until then? 


I can't share the time spent until the technician arrived. It is too painful a memory to rehash in my own mind, let alone on a public forum. When the doorbell rang at 1:40 pm on Monday, you would have thought I caught Santa Claus in the act; I was beyond ecstatic. He walked in full of confidence, but without any English. Sheepishly, I led him to the scene of the dead cable box and then left the room. I couldn't watch. 


Fifteen minutes I ventured back into the living room to see what progress had been made. He was like a Hawaiian surfing dude, covering the Internet like he was riding a big gun and sailing through the barrel of those waves. When I walked in, he calmly picked up the cable box, which I had thought he must have replaced. After flipping it over, he pointed to something and said...




Switch, on - off! If the earth would only open up and swallow us at times like these...

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Universal Crankiness

Our dear Balazs called today, distraught to say the least. At first, I thought it was an issue in his life; he was speaking so fast and furious, I had to have him repeat it before understanding it was about us. He received a call from OUR building manager stating at the last apartment meeting there were two complaints about us. 1. We have too many guests who let the elevator door slam shut and they find it disturbing. 2. We have not swept and mopped our balcony to their satisfaction. Balazs started to tell me the cow story, but I stopped him assuring him I have heard it. Actually, in the last two weeks, I have heard four versions of it, but the outcome is always the same. Animal rights activists need to be checking up on all of these dead cows. If you don't know the story, it is in the immediately previous post. Using minimal critical thinking skills, I suggested that they fix the damn door. We took the initiative of putting a sign on both sides of the door in Hungarian and English asking that the door be held until it is closed gently. We also meet all guests at the elevator now to indoctrinate them in case, due to their excitement, they miss seeing the sign. I can count on both hands and then need a helping hand from others to count the number of times Hungarians who were not coming here, let the damn door slam shut. They claim it would cost too much to fix the door, so they would rather make a bigger racket complaining about it. We have inquired as to the cost of repair. It is cheaper to fix it than listen to them squawk about. At least they will have to be creative with finding something new that we do to irritate them. Mopping the balcony? Give me a break! I have never in 7+ years ever seen anyone mop the balcony. Since we are the first apartment in from the elevator on one side, it seems it is our responsibility to sweep and mop the balcony from the outer hallway door to the part past our windows. So here is my solution. We will mop, but then post signs saying "We have just mopped the balcony. Please remove your shoes from this point forward until you have past our windows. Those caught with shoes on will be asked to pay a toll. It has rained at least an hour for the last ten days. Are these people nuts?

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