My husband trusted me to do something.  Besides the obvious like caring for the kids, the most precious part of our lives, he asked me to cross over to his domain.  “Can you call AT&T and just ask them to flip a switch?”  What?  Do I look so pained to sit here folding laundry?  Is this the lesser of two evils?  I got a big pit in my stomach.  I started to sweat.

I would rather fold laundry and I hate folding laundry.  I would clean out the garage.  I would even give up chocolate for a week!  I could think of a million horrible tasks to trump an AT&T call.  Anything is better.  Oh the tummy knots were twisting and the ugly techie thoughts were swimming in my head.  I just wanted to continue folding my laundry in peace.

Dead Lifeline.

My husband had to visit a genius to get his iphone repaired, in preparation for a business trip the next day. He thought I was genius enough to ask AT&T to flip a switch to get our service up and running.  I had to really think about whether I could do this, like jumping off a cliff.   All I know about a router is it is a smallish box with tiny green lights and a colorful spaghetti of cables and wires sticking out of it.  It makes our Internet, TV and phone service go.  That’s all I want to ever know about a router.

I took the plunge and made the call.  He wouldn’t have asked me if he wasn’t desperate, I thought.  I am armed with the 800-number and social security number.  I am ready.

Fairy Writing. Lit and magnified.

Of course I am directed to India and get a very polite lady with a stage name of Sheri.  All is good until she asks specifics about the router, model number, what cables are plugged in, etc.  I don’t know if it’s aesthetics or what, but the print on the router is teeny, tiny and ever so faint.  It’s like fairy writing, all soft, small and silvery.  Clearly it’s fairy dust, a nice contrast with the bold black box.  I need a flashlight and a magnifying glass but I do not have either.  I make do.

Process of elimination. 

“Look, all the cable slots are full except for one.  It’s red.  Is that enough information,” I ask curtly.

She is trying to figure out why we don’t have service and running through all the possibilities.  She is not going to just throw a switch.  (I’m getting the impression she doesn’t even know the meaning of “throw a switch.”)   I thought I was using techie talk to say, “Press the on button.”  She proceeds to ask which lights are green and possibly blinking.  We are back to the fairy-dust writing.

All systems go, I think.

“Only one light is yellow.  Third from the bottom,” I say.  I refuse to crawl all over the floor again, looking for words I can’t see to read let alone define.

She responds, “I think we need to get a technician out there.”

I go ballistic.  “Oh, no, no, no, no.  You guys were supposed to come out twice before and blew us off.  Lucky for YOU my husband is REALLY technical so he could figure it out.  Let me speak to someone who knows what they are talking about.  Get me a manager!”  (Because I clearly know what I am talking about and I am using techie-talk, “flip a switch”.  My techie husband told me so.)

I gotta hand it to the customer service in India.  She is not rattled.   I’m sure I’m not her first ranting crazy person.  She is apologetic but insistent she can get someone out here to help.  I relent.

“We can send someone Monday,” she states flatly and without hesitation.

“Not until Monday!  (It’s Saturday afternoon, 4 pm.)  We don’t have ANY service.  NO phone.  NO Internet.  NO Cable.  You are really lucky we have cell service in case something tragic happens,” I exclaim.  I wanted her to know I felt abandoned, like I’m in a dark alley, all alone.

Unfazed by the guilt trip, Sheri moves on.  “I’m so sorry Miss.  Can I get the password for the account?”

Crap!  Guess who forgot to write that one down?  I can’t call or text to get it because somebody’s iphone is dead.

“I don’t have it.  Can’t you just send someone out?  I AM his WIFE,” I state the obvious.

“No.  I need a password.  I will give you hints,” she says.  She honestly was feeling sorry for me now.

We went through an elementary school name, favorite song and lastly, favorite restaurant.  I failed all of them, even the restaurant.  I could only think of our last nice, nice dinner at Gary Denkos in San Francisco from twelve years ago.  I even tried family favorites and failed.  I’m not sounding like his wife now.

“Really?  You can’t send anyone out to fix it without a password?”  I didn’t get the answer I wanted.  AT&T will not get in the middle of a marriage.  Smart.

“My HUSBAND is going to be so FURIOUS.  You guys are no better than Comcast.  Tell that to the higher-ups.  I KNOW we are being recorded and I hope they’re listening.”  I hung up.

Boy I showed her.  I showed her how explosive I could be in a ridiculously frustrating situation.  I showed her how much I don’t know about techie stuff.  I showed her how out of touch I am with my husband because I don’t know any personal information about him to pass a password test.  Maybe the router isn’t the only thing with problems.  Sheri is getting a clear window view into a twenty year marriage.  She knows more about my husband in this moment than I do.  Ugh.

Peace.

I go back to folding laundry to cool down.   How embarrassing!  How could I not know our favorite restaurant?

My husband returns and doesn’t ask me anything right away.  I’m shocked.  I thought this was important.  Finally he pipes up.  He’s so sure I didn’t do it, hence the delay.  He knows me.  Ah, no.  Not this time.  He’s not the only one at a loss here.

I went off.  I talked mostly about the exasperating experience and making me jump through hoops like router ports when all I needed was an on/off switch.   He shakes his head, “Those guys.  They want to send someone out for everything.  I’ll just hook the old router back up and wait until I return from my trip.”  I gave up folding laundry for this?

I’m worn out.  I don’t have an angry word in me any more, Sheri got them all.  I had to know, “What’s our favorite restaurant?  They asked me as a password hint.”

“McGloopy’s*.  I made it up.  I never give real answers to those things,” he says with an air of superiority.

Oh THANK GOD!  I DO KNOW my husband, the REAL one.  Now I feel superior too.  You lose Sheri, she just doesn’t know it.  Rats.

*(McGloopy’s isn’t the “real” made up answer in case anyone thinks I just gave away the store.  I made one up for this post.)