Here in the ghetto and maybe elsewhere for all I know, the local cable TV company (no need to name them, there's only the one) has an interesting sales technique. They turn the cable on, and then send a large guy over to crack his knuckles and say, "There's a live line here. Maybe you'd like to start paying for cable?"
When I come home after Math today, I see a gold Cadillac, its shabbiness attesting to the efficacy of the sales method, parked out front and a guy crouching by the corner of my house. At first I think he's messing with my downspout. Why would some maniac try to pull the end off the downspout? I know anything that isn't nailed down is fair game around here, but the downspout is kind of attached. As I walk up, I see that he's messing with the cable and figure out what's coming next. He's not the first they've sent over. I have no trouble resisting their blandishments.
"Are you 2804?"
"Yes. And what are you doing to my house?" I ask.
"I'm just checking out the cable. There's a live line here." He twists a coupling with a little wrench.
"Oh?" I raise my eyebrows and think, but do not say, And how did that happen? Did, perhaps, the cable company turn it on?
"Yes. Would you like to start getting cable?" He stands up and brushes the grit off his brown work pants. He's wearing a plastic badge on a lanyard around his neck and holding a clipboard. His name is Chris. He should zip up his jacket, it's cold out today. (He doesn't actually crack his knuckles.)
"No. I do not want cable. I don't even have TVs in the rooms where the cable comes into the house. I have a satellite dish." I point up towards my roof.
"Oh? I didn't see that." He is surprised at my powers of resistance. I suppose people who are watching cable TV that comes into their houses without their asking for it must fall all over themselves to stop defrauding the cable company. But I have defeated the cable company and its stranglehold on the only decent TV reception in the neighborhood. I am already overpaying for TV service from a completely different source!
"Yes. It's screwed into the chimney."
"And you don't want cable?" he repeats.
"No. I do not want cable." Two can play at that game.
"Oh. Well, you have a good day then." He marks something on his clipboard.
"You too." I leave him to it. Cable, hah! I get my TV shows from outer space.
441 words | March 10, 2004 09:30 PM | Real true story