Some people marry for love, others marry for money. I married for tech support.
When the internet goes out, it's all systems dread
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“Is the internet working?” Christina calls out from her office.
If you have to ask…
No, the internet isn’t working. The Dropbox file for my current manuscript won’t open. Google can’t tell me how many Angelenos voted for a mandatory condom law on porn shoots in 2012—important research, I swear! And despite the fact that Mortimer and I want the funk, Spotify refuses to give up the funk.
“We’re funked!” I shout from my office. “I mean, we’re fucked!”
And so begins our third internet-induced work stoppage of 2021.
“Can you call those assholes?” Christina asks.
Christina ducks into the bedroom to hop on the phone and rejoin her Zoom meeting (audio only). I call those assholes.
The AI at our internet service provider recognizes my phone. I identify myself. When the AI asks why I’m calling, I’m tempted to say, “the usual.” But AI’s don’t dream of electric knock-knock jokes, not yet anyway, so I skip the snark.
“Internet outage.”
The AI says there is no outage in our area.
I hang up.
I called this one in too soon. The internet just went out. Better wait. I offer Mortimer a walk. He declines. I make coffee, join Mortimer on the couch, and catch up my leisure reading.
An eternity passes.
Wondering if I’ll be able to work on my manuscript today, turns to wondering about the quality of the manuscript, then the quality of the writing, and finally the quality of the writer.
Yikes, things can get dark fast without internet these days.
I call the AI again. The AI remembers me, which is cool. It says I called about an internet outage nine minutes ago, which isn’t cool because nobody likes a judgy AI.
“Operator.”
The AI pretends it can’t hear me.
I say “Operator” three more times with increasing clarity and volume.
Eventually, the AI routes me to a human named Alice.
“I’m not seeing an outage in your area,” Alice says.
“It’s super windy here,” I tell Alice. “Last time the winds were this bad, we lost internet. And we’ve lost it three times this month.”
“Have you checked your router?”
Christina checked it. The machines are her department. They listen to her. I do the household stuff. But Alice doesn’t need to know about the division of labor here, so I use the royal we when I tell her we already checked the router.
“Are you using your router, or one from Spectrum?” Alice asks.
Drats! One question in and the royal we has failed me. I have no idea. I ask Alice to hold for Christina.
“If you look at it, I can tell you,” Alice says in a helpful tone.
But I know my limits.
“She says there’s no outage,” I tell Christina. “Are we using their router, or ours? Ours, right? I think it’s ours. Didn’t you say something about routers and shit when you setup that mesh thing-a-ma-jig?”
Christina takes my phone and tells Alice about the router. Then Alice asks about the lights on the router.
“Oh—it’s back on,” Christina says. “It just came back on!”
And just like that in-house tech support has fixed the internet.
What happened?
What went wrong in the first place?
How did Christina fix it?
Is she some kind of golden technology goddess who can fix a router just by looking at it?
I have no idea.
What I do know is this: I married well, and we’re back in funking business!
My husband fixes all my technology problems with just one look. It’s a little unnerving sometimes.
Good one Michael! LOL!!! Christina continues to be a the golden bad ass! Nice!