This morning the internet man came. He walked in our office, looked around, and declared, "There is nothing I can do." Hub and I were astonished. Baffled. BUT, we were most certainly NOT speechless.
"Are you sure?"
"The last guys that came said it could be fixed."
After a little more prodding, he visited the office and returned with a lady who is the majority of the maintenance staff here. She was on our side. She fought for us, bullied the internet man around a little bit. I like her. She took the internet man on a trip around the apartment and the hallway, making all sorts of good suggestions. Mostly just rubbing in his face that she knew a little bit about this line running, and she knew enough to know he hadn't done a thorough job. Take that internet man. After all this bullying, he said he didn't have what he needed to fix the problem, but he would come back on another appointment.
I felt defeated. I almost cried. Not because of another day without internet, but because I have my first online class today starting at 4:30, and I really didn't feel like hanging out at Barnes and Noble for two hours. Then, I got angry. This problem was supposed to be fixed THREE appointments ago. Did I really need to make another one? I don't think so. We passed ridiculous a long time ago, and I was fed up.
So, I called the internet people. The person of the internet people I talk to is Kim. I wish I could send Kim cookies. Anyway, I called Kim. I told her the history, the current story, my issues. I used my polite, businessy voice with just a hint or two of tiss. The tiss was to get my point across. Trust me, with the internet (and cable) people around here, you can't get anything done without a hint of tiss.
After I concluded my tale of woe, Kim said, "Well, it looks like someone was already out there today?"
"Yes." I replied, "he came and then left because he didn't have the appropriate drill bit."
"Well, ma'am, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it says that fixing your issue would require drywall damage, and the apartment manager won't allow it."
"That's not right."
"I'm sorry. I know it's frustrating, but we see this a lot in apartment complexes."
"No. Management gave it a go. The tech guy left because he didn't have the right part. He said he would come back. I'm just calling to make sure we get a new appointment because we've had a little trouble with that in the past, and I'd like to make sure the tech that comes for the new appointment understands that it's going to be a difficult job, and I need him to be qualified."
"So, wait. The apartment management said he could do what he needed to do to fix the issue?"
"Yes."
"You know what? This isn't okay. He'll be back as soon as possible and with his supervisor. When is a good time for you? I'm so sorry about all of this."
"It's okay. As soon as possible is good with us."
"Okay, let me check the schedule. I can't believe he falsified his report. I'm so sorry this is happening. Mrs. Hubbard, don't you worry. We will get this problem resolved. How does Friday sound? 11:30-2:30?"
"Sounds great. Thank you so much."
"It's no problem at all. I'll call you back to confirm that I've booked the appointment with your management, and please let me say again that the same tech will be back on Friday WITH his supervisor, so you should NOT run into ANY problems."
We ended the phone call with the usual niceties, and then about ten minutes later, Kim called back.
"Hi, ma'am. This is Kim, with the internet people. Will you be home for the rest of the day?"
"Yes."
"Okay, great. The tech will come back today with his supervisor as soon as possible. It shouldn't be more than an hour."
"Oh, wow. Thank you SO much."
About thirty minutes after my chat with Kim, the tech returned with his supervisor. They scurried around and asked me questions about my laundry room, looked up and down the walls. I could sense a feeling of failure in the air, and I prayed that somehow our troubles could be fixed. After a little more looking around, the two men came upstairs to the office. I think they were arguing over who would have to tell me there was nothing to be done. Then, like magic, a suggestion flowed from my lips, and the supervisor was on the ground, pulling things out of my closet. Once he'd made a fairly large mess, the real magic happened, and a secret outlet was discovered. The levels were checked. They were good. The modem was plugged up to the new outlet, and all was well with the world.
I thanked the tech guys about fifty-five times before they left, and just as they shut the door, I bolted upstairs to watch Safari navigate from one website to the next. I think that's how Hub and I will be spending our free time for a while, enjoying the beauty of a solid internet connection.
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