Life Lesson 10,143: Internet Service Providers Are Better at Revenge Than You

Or: That One Time I Really Regretted Scheduling Something in Advance

Because I have been spoiled by technology and first world niceties, I get to work from home a lot. This is just the absolute best thing, y’all.

Hard at Work

Do you not awkwardly stick your tongue out while typing? Is that not a thing?

Except that it means I have to spend all day on my at-home Internet connection. Which I used to think was really great – all fast and shiny and responsive – before I started working from home.

 

The Fastest Internet

Like this! So fast! So shiny!

It is not fast and shiny and responsive, guys. And it slowly got slower and slower and slower…for two years.*
*Which is definitely why I didn’t blog for two years. Definitely. Not because of laziness or forgetfulness. It’s all the Internet’s fault, I swear.

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I stole all of my husband’s** account information so that I could be the boss of the Internet connection in our house, and called my ISP.***
**Oh, yeah, I totally got married in the past two years. Was that not mentioned? 
***This stands for “Internet Service Provider.” It is a nice way to say “company I give all my money to.” 

Politestest Mad

Eyelashes illustrate how delightfully polite I was. The first seventeen times.

Things did not improve. I called, and called again. Promises were made and routers were reset. I defended my ability to turn things off and then on again.

Slightly mad at Phone

There are an unreasonable amount of ink dots on this set of Post-its.

Nothing got better.

Polite Mad

Eventually all of my polite eyelashes fell out.

Not even a little bit.

Slow Internet

Don’t pretend that you don’t have a “the Internet is being slow” face.

Finally, it was time for serious action. Finally, it was time for me to break up with my ISP. I didn’t want to be a heartless monster, but I did want my Internet to work. You know, so I could work.

So I made a plan, and set up a start date for a different ISP to come and give me all the Internet.

I didn’t want to be too harsh on my current ISP, though. I wanted to give them some warning. So I called and told them the bad news. We could no longer be together, as of next Monday. But we needed to stay together until then, because it was currently Wednesday, and I still had work to do. We could still be together for six days, so they had time to fill the hole I left with another valued customer. My ISP cried softly****, but honored my wishes.
****Spent a lot of time trying to up-sell me other things like phone service and TV.

Why oh Why

Oh wait…

Or rather, they turned my Internet off immediately. In the middle of a work day. Ten minutes before a meeting.

It clearly must have been a mistake. So I called them.

ANGRY AT PHONE

Very calmly. I called them very, very calmly.

This, of course, marking the 37th***** call I had made to them in the past six months.
*****This is the actual number of times. Not an exaggeration.

 

This was no simple accident made by customer service, it turned out. They’d burned their bridges. They’d salted the earth. They’d somehow backdated my end-of-service date to be two months ago. They couldn’t re-open my account…so if I wanted Internet (for the next six days), I needed to open a new account.

I had no choice. If I didn’t accept their terms, I couldn’t work. So I opened this new account, amidst promises that the service would be instantly restored and better than ever before, and I could cancel my account in six days and get all my money back.

Angry Internet

ISPs: Not really good at fixing things.

Thus, my slow Internet was restored. And six days later, I once again called and broke up with my ISP, and followed all their post-breakup instructions.

And I have spent the last eight months calling my ISP to assure them that yes, I have indeed broken up with them, with both accounts, and I do not in fact owe them any money.

I am still getting bills.

And that is how I learned that ISPs are much, much better at revenge than I am.

Let’s Get Ready to Rummmmblllleee…*

Or: I Swear I Watched the Super Bowl and This Post Has Almost Nothing to Do with Sports

* Wait, is that not a football thing?

By nature, I am a bookish introvert. One of my favorite ways to spend an evening is wrapped up in a blanket, tucked up on my couch with a book**.
**And marshmallows. And wine.  

But not many adventures happen when you’re safely enjoying the company of your couch cushions, and I am a big fan of adventures. There is a happy, malicious part of my brain that has rebelled from my quiet reclusiveness, and makes regular, extroverted demands on the rest of me.*** And last Monday, that part of my brain decided that it was time for a party.
***I also blame this part of my brain for all bad decisions ever made.

At least she's adorable

The bad decision devil is personally responsible for that one time I decided to…uh, nevermind. That’s a completely different story that you should forget about immediately.

I tried to argue with her using logic and sensibility.

It only looks like I'm talking to myself. She's totally there

You only think I do not have these conversations with myself out loud. At work.

But I’m not very good at it, because logic and sensibility sound very boring and not at all like “Let’s drag a bunch of our friends over to eat junk food and pretend we know all the rules of sportsball. Uh, I mean, football.”

They also think I'm a lesbian

Facebook is really determined to figure out what ads are most effective for selling things to me. They have yet to try to use dinosaurs or explosions, so they still haven’t outsmarted me.

And so that’s how I decided to throw a Super Bowl**** party. I invited many people through the magic of technology and the Internet. I reveled in the joy of party planning like an adult and the impending fun of unhealthy food and friends.
****Superb Owl. Sportsball. Can you tell I am clearly the best and most logical choice for hostess of a football party?

To the tune of "Na na na na naaaa na"

Yes. This is a song. I encourage you to sing it next time you throw a party.

And then yesterday morning arrived.

Yes. This is how I sit up in Bed

It’s like waking up the morning of the middle school science fair and realizing you never actually MADE the paper mache volcano.

I woke up to the realization that I had less than 8 hours to clean my living space and make snacks and pretend to be a cool, collected, organized human being***** instead of a girl who periodically builds blanket forts and lives on boxed macaroni and cheese.
*****Just in case I might suddenly be able to fool my friends into thinking I have my life together.

Totally effective. Definitely

Because two-handed cleaning is always effective.

Just when I decided I had clearly mastered adulthood and was definitely going to be prepared by the time people came over, disaster struck.

AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE CAME FROM.

IT WAS THE BIGGEST BUG IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND HE WAS LOOKING RIGHT AT ME.

I may be just slightly mortally terrified of bugs.

But I also was perpetually aware that, in addition to a bunch of friends, I had invited over a guy I like. And he was coming over early to help me make proper football snacks.

I had no time to cower from the bug.****** So it was time to get tough.
****** I named him Maximus, Destroyer of Productivity.

This actually happened

Because if you tip toe up to bugs, they won’t notice your intentions to murder them horribly. It’s also harder to run away on your tip toes.

We circled each other for a good three minutes. But I was motivated.

Probably.

Technically, that book is biodegradable and so probably not littering.

And that’s how my copy of Moby Dick ended up in the bushes outside my apartment. I am educating nature.

“You Will Never Find a More Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy.”

Or: The Time I Went to See Extreme Midget Wrestling

There are a lot of things I have never done. So far, I’ve never sky dived. I’ve never bungee jumped. I’ve never walked the Amazon River or been swimming with sharks. I’ve never gone disco dancing.

Basically what I’m saying is: At this point in my life, my list of regretfully missed experiences may be longer than my list of unforgettably cool adventures.*

*OK, maybe not walking the Amazon River. I’ve watched the Discovery Channel. That’s how you get parasites.

So when “Extreme Midget Wrestling” was suggested, I was, of course, completely game.

Don't do it.

Because there’s a federation. And that means this is both a respectable and organized sport, guys.
Go ahead. Click for source.

And so my equally enthusiastic friend and I braved a dark and stormy night to patronize the high-quality world of the Extreme Midget Wrestling Federation.**
**Eat cheeseburgers, drink adult beverages, and – in our minds – cheer for creatively named wrestlers like in the days of Macho Man Randy Savage and Jake the Snake.***
***I maybe watched a lot of WWF wrestling with my brother when we were growing up. Maybe. But probably not – I mean, I can’t imagine my parents allowing such violence in the house.****
****Hi Mom and Dad!

These chants should be verbatim

This is how my idealistic mind pictured an evening of midget wrestling.

We did not expect this to be a very well attended event. We trusted the people of the South to have much more distinguished tastes in Friday night activities. We were certain that they would be more interested in unscripted sports played by very large men than a potentially marginalizing spectacle sport in a tiny music venue.

Boy howdy, we were so wrong.

And we waited in it!

This was the line! And it was raining!
This did not discourage us in the slightest.

Apparently, guys, Extreme Midget Wrestling is a very, very serious annual gathering in the Queen City. The women behind us in line not only watched for tickets, but they bought theirs the first day they were available. My friend and I had not yet bought tickets. And apparently we were the only ones to be so casual about this whole event.

But we were cool with that. Because the line was an educational experience. A horrifying educational experience.

LEAVE YOUR CHILDREN OUT OF THIS.

There were many complaints about Steve’s mysterious absence. Eventually Steve became my favorite person in line.

But inside was more astonishing.

Things I learned on this night:

  • Midget wrestling is super disorganized.
  • People who regularly go see midget wrestling do not like midgets, and tend to be very tall.
  • People who regularly go see midget wrestling also do not like:
    • People of other ethnic backgrounds
    • Women
    • Homosexuals
    • Once again, midgets
    • People who do not like their local sports team
    • Liberals, Democrats, or the president

There was a half time show. Apparently at a midget wrestling show, the best way to celebrate half time is to volunteer women from the audience to dance for the midgets. While the audience judges their moves. And enthusiasm. And basically everything about them.

I'm serious. I may never recover

You are welcome.

Did I mention there were children at this show? Young children? Because that happened. So, to spare you from bringing your own young children to this…highly educational life event, I have decided to provide you with the below picture, that sums up the most appropriate moments of the entire night.

From above. From floor height, the view is VERY DIFFERENT

Just in case you feel my interpretations are not accurate, this is what Extreme Midget Wrestling looks like.

A free for all spectacle brawl. With a ladder. The ladder was my favorite wrestler because the ladder did not motorboat any of the ladies in the crowd.*****
*****This happened. Not the ladder motorboating someone, I mean. The wrestlers. More than once. I know this because I was standing next to a lady this happened to. Don’t worry though, guys. She was totally cool with it.

So now I know a whole lot more about the nationwide sport of midget wrestling, as well as about the people who attend this sensational event.

And I also know that next time, I’m going swimming with sharks.

What, this doesn't look fun to you?

What, this doesn’t look fun to you?
Click for source.

Let’s Talk about Teamwork

Because it’s time for a feel-good moment on the Internet that doesn’t involve kittens.* We’re taking the web back, people.

*That’s a lie. I WISH this involved kittens. More things should probably involve kittens. Not that I’m a cat lady or anything.

One of my very favorite people in the whole world** recently got stuck in the unfortunate position of having to hunt for a “new” car. “New” is justifiably in quotes, because what it really means is “new to her and hopefully functional, because she’s in grad school due to being brilliant, but that doesn’t yield a lot of money.” So really, my usage of “new” is practically an abbreviation.

**It’s a fierce competition to be my favorite. There’s a whole point system and everything. It’s a pretty corrupt system.

The good news is, she’s a terribly inspiring person. And what she inspired among her friends and husband was this: teamwork. Teamwork to find her a new car.

And in the process, we pretty much solved all our financial problems.

I’d like you to meet the world’s most exciting limo service:

Best. Ad. Ever

Luxury to suite your survival-related or undead needs!***
Click for amazing source.

***Please note. This is courtesy of Craigslist, which as we previously discussed, has everything. But it is really important to note that all this ad says about a zombie limo is: “Great car. Nothings wrong. Come see it and make an offer.” Which, uh, kind of makes me think it’s full of actual zombies.

Shortly to be run by a conglomeration of very responsible people***.

***My friends and I. Go on. Trust us.

It’s going to be the best ride ever. We just have a few questions first:

  1. Why are there no inside photos of this vehicle?
  2. Does the inside of this vehicle smell like hookers, death and meth?
  3. Is this vehicle for the safe transportation of people AVOIDING zombies, or is it for the transportation of zombies from place to place? We have to know our market, people.

Either way, I’m pretty sure this is a lucrative opportunity. And it goes hand in hand with the complementary joys of the obviously necessary catering accomplice:

Craigslist is the greatest thing ever.

It’s zombielicious.
Click for source.

Because what’s the point in transporting people avoiding zombies/zombies who need to travel if you can’t FEED them along the way? I mean, if we’re transporting zombies, we can use this concession stand to lure unsuspecting people close to the limo, where they will thusly become food for the zombies. And if we’re transporting regular, not-rotty people, they will need to be fed.

Shaved ice is very nourishing, I hear.

This is only the beginning though, people. We’ve begun a plot to buy up all the zombie-related vehicles in the nation and do a North American food tour.

I now present to you THE PLAN:

Yes, this did have to be a picture

This is a really great plan, right? Totally financially sound? Ok then. Dibs. This plan is Copyright me, 2013. (That’s how copyrights work, right?)

It’s kind of the best thing ever, right? I mean, we’re ahead of the game embracing the career potential of the impending zombie apocalypse, AND we’ve found more than one vehicle for my friend.

The lesson to be learned here is: Teamwork Can Solve All Your Vehicular and Financial Problems****

****And also by the consolidated efforts of me, Max Power^, and K.B. Toys^^, with the willing participation of our car-shopping heroine, 

^Not his real name
^^Also not his real name

P.S.: Hey guys, guys! Canada and Bahrain and Australia and the UK found my blog! Bahrain! And look how much Canada! LOTS of Canada!

YAY

Like, A LOT of Canada. Hi Canada!

This is the best day ever.