My freakin internet connection doesn’t work.

To fix that problem my gigantic corporate internet provider sent me a new cellular modem. I had to ask what the hell that was. A cellular modem is air internet. Wireless. I’m a computer dinosaur, so that’s a redundant sentence.

Anyway. Guess what? It doesn’t work.

For three days, Jim (my son, a computer savvy engineer), Jerry (my local IT professional), and I tried numerous methods following the provider’s directions (and good ol’ Google) to connect. To no avail. A red light continued to mock us.  I think something is amiss. We weren’t sure if it was the modem or something not operating correctly in our neck of the woods, like a tower. The evidence pointed to the new modem being defective.

Sooooo. The ignorant dinosaur had to make the dreaded phone call to the giant corporate provider’s “Customer Service.”

Why “dreaded”? Primarily because it usually kills the better part of a day trying to get a human who speaks good English to help you. AND when you get one, he/she will ask you questions you can’t answer.

So here’s how the “dreaded” call went.

At about 1:30 pm I nervously dialed the 800 number. The friendly robot said all service reps were busy helping other “nervous” customers and I had a choice. I could wait on hold for God knows how long, or ask for a call back. I opted for the call back, expecting maybe an hour or so. The robot said 10 minutes.

Sure ‘nuff, my iPhone sang nine minutes later. I answered and identified myself to another robot. It/he/she said all reps were busy and someone would be with me shortly. “Ain’t this where I came in?” After a short wait, Leo answered. Leo was a human and he spoke good English. I was pleased.

“What can I help you with today?”

Oh Lord. How do I recap three days of frustration succinctly and tactfully for Leo? I did my best. He started remotely troubleshooting their local equipment, towers, signal, the works. Finding no significant problems on their end, he moved to my modem.

But first, he had to make sure I was me.

He emailed me a security code and asked me to read it back. I’m on my iPhone with him. How the hell do I check my email without losing him? Well, I tried. I swiped him away, went to email, found the 6-digit code, and trusted my memory to carry it back.

Bad idea.

I told him what I thought the 6 digits were. Uh uh. “’Rong.”

Sheeeeit. Swipe, hunt, write it down this time, swipe back, talk. Worked the second time. He now knew I was me. Good Lord!

Now that we’ve established that I y’am who I y’am, Leo gave me my first physical challenge. “Can you unplug the modem and move it to a completely different room near a window on the opposite side of the house? I can wait.”

I thought: that’s what I’ve been doing for three days. But ok.

At my age, I don’t run anywhere, so I walked briskly into the bedroom. No socket near the window. There must be one behind the big-ass bureau (high boy) because there’s a lamp on top. I succeeded in moving it a bit.

Murphy lives. The socket was on the opposite side.

I couldn’t reach it without risking a hernia and causing the stuff on top to fall and break. I opted for a socket in the bath and sink area near a bright window and replugged the freakin modem. Believe it or not, Leo patiently waited through the whole scramble. He was still there.

This was the fourth location we’d tried. We’d done all this before I made the dreaded call.

We waited about 5 minutes. The red light came on again.

After running me all over the house and overworking my pacemaker a bunch, Leo confirmed what I told him up front. The modem’s defective. They’ll send me another one.

I have my orders. Wait for the new modem, hand it to my IT guy Jerry, and ship the inop one back UPS with my account number. Leo gave me that over the phone too, because I forgot it.

Will the new one work? Hope so. But I ain’t bettin on it.

I was exhausted after the dreaded phone call. They did a good job. Of course, I still have no wifi. My iPhone on cellular is my workaround for now.

The “dreaded call” gave me a decent sitcom story. I hope y’all can visualize “the Old Man in the Attic” hunting for a socket to confirm for the bureaucracy what he already knew. That’s also my wifi network name, as it happens. Which I currently cannot access.

As my buddy Macbeth would say, it was another example of “Life’s but a walking shadow. The poor player struts and frets his last hour upon the stage, then is heard no more. ‘Tis a tale told by an idiot; full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Enuf.