I live at Panera now. As I’m unable to complete my work at home with my COMCASTIC internet (non)service, I’ve decided to just throw in my lot with the baristas and sandwich-makers. It’s gotta beat spending one or two hours every day on the phone with the nice, polite people in Canada who don’t know anything “aboot” the fact that my local technician center is manned by retarded toddler yaks.
This morning at 4:30 (I got up early to work, you know, hoping my COMCASTIC internet was back on, SILLY ME) the nice Canadian at Comcast who HAS internet service listened to my tale and admitted that the service I have received is—and I quote—“positively shameful.”
But do I have service? No, I do not.
But I do have a basement full of water.
And a 9-year-old recovering from gum surgery.
And a really big cup of coffee to go with my current murderous rage.
Otto will be here in a few hours (finally) and I will ignore him all weekend so I can do all the work I’ve not been able to do this week. It’ll be good practice for being married, right? HA. HAHAHA.