Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Last week I learned that one of the most certain ways to scorn Angie was to mess with her television. Everything I’m about to tell you is true, or possibly embellished to make it funnier.
The in-laws came up and helped us rearrange our furniture last week. We mounted the TV on the wall, opposite where it had been. There had been television cables along that wall, but surprise! They had been cut when we had originally moved the TV. Angie called our satellite television provider (you could say they have a DIREC way of delivering TV programming, provided you were willing to horribly misspell things) and scheduled a hookup for that following Tuesday.
I’m in the middle of a very important game of Solitaire on Tuesday, when I get the following call from Angie:
“Pete, the (satellite provider name redacted) guy just left, and he wouldn’t hook up our TV!”
“What?” What? Why not? “Why not?”
“He said he wasn’t paid to do that kind of thing and now we don’t have TV and I HATE EVERYONE LET ME CALL THEM NOW.”
Angie had moved into Angry Call Back Mode. Nothing good comes out of Angry Call Back Mode. I knew I’d be getting a call in a few minutes. I did, and Angie had fallen back into Content, But Not Quite Pleased.
“They said they’d send someone out in an hour.”
Well, that’s great! We get our TV back, and we don’t have to fall back on our large supply of Yo Gabba Gabba! to keep Ema entertained. I went back to my Solitaire game. Two hours later, Angie calls back.
She’d went past Angry Call Back Mode, and into Threaten Very Bad Things mode.
“THOSE JACKHOLES JUST SAID THEY’RE NOT COMING UNTIL SATURDAY THIS ISN’T FAIR I’M GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN THIS HOUSE.”
I didn’t feel immediate fear, since I was in another city and therefore, technically, not in the house. But I knew Angie probably wouldn’t get around to killing people until I got there, so I knew I had to do something. Besides, Angie thought she was being treated unfairly, so I felt I should make it better. I got in the car, getting ready to meet God.
“Hold on, I’ll call them.”
I hate calling companies. I enjoy talking to people, but you don’t get people when you call companies: you get Cheerful Female Robot who really wants to help you solve your problem.
I hate Cheeful Female Robot. I hate her so much. Cheerful Female Robot instantly puts me in Yell In The Phone Until I Get A Real Person mode.
“Operator!” I yelled at Cheerful Female Robot.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. Did you say…”
“OPERATOR OR WE ALL DIE.”
“I’m going to put you through to an operator.” I think Cheerful Female Robot understood fear on that day. She put me through to a technician, who was very sorry for my trouble, and that my wife was upset, but could she please put me through to Customer Retention?
“Fine, please. Oooooooh crap.”
Did you know most people speed when they’re angry? I was very angry! So much so that I didn’t notice a Texas State Trooper on the side of the road. Bob from Customer Retention was on the line, but I couldn’t answer at that moment.
“Hold on a moment, Bob, I have to talk to a policeman.”
“Sure thing, Walter!”
I rolled down my window to a rather bothered state trooper. I didn’t have an excuse, so I figured the truth would have to do.
“My wife’s very angry right now.”
“I’m sorry, son.”
He let me go with a warning. Angry wives frighten everybody, even grizzled Texas State Patrol veterans. I waited until I was out of his sight before I picked up the phone. “Hello, Bob?”
“Walter, I’m sorry about all that! Look, I was pulling up your file while you were getting pulled over, and it looks like we made a horrible mistake! How about I fix it for you right now, since you’re a valuable customer?”
“Thank you, Bob.”
“We’ll send someone out as soon as possible. I know you want it all hooked up before the Super Bowl! And let me give you a discount on your bill, for the next six months. Does that sound good?”
“Yes, Bob, thank you.”
“Now, Walter, can I do anything else for you?”
“Yes, Bob. One thing.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Call my wife. I don’t want her to kill me as I come through the door.”
“Ha ha, she sure was angry, wasn’t she, Walter?”
“Bob, I’m not kidding.”
“Oh. Well, sorry about that. Godspeed, brave warrior.”
“Thank you, Bob.”
Angie had calmed down considerably when I got home. I brought her a peace offering of a Wendy’s Frosty, and she graciously accepted it. We got the TV hooked up before the Super Bowl, and now we don’t have to watch any more Gabby. Angie is now in Everything Is Fine But Don’t Make A Move, Mister mode. I can sleep at night, though I keep waking up, just to make sure.
I need to buy a Kevlar vest, our dishwasher’s acting up.
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