All The Women Who Are Independent

The cable guy came on Friday to set up my high-speed internet for me. Not that he actually did anything except give me a shorter cable to keep from losing too much signal. Oh, and he watched me run the self-install program. Seriously.

Between 8 and 12. At 12:05 they showed up. Two guys; one a husky guy with a tattoed arm and the other a scrawny Polish guy. Mr. Tattoo looked like he was in his early 20’s while Bean-Pole appeared in his mid to late 30’s. They walked in and started talking like I wasn’t there until I explained to them that I was pretty much set up and really just needed my registration number to run the setup. They listened then ignored me.

Bean-Pole started testing the lines and informed me that I had cable. Well, duh! I told them that several times on the phone this week. He marked it on his clipboard. He then told me that the signal could be stronger and that they would just grab a ladder, hop into the attic and tweak some stuff. That’s when Sarah and I giggled. (Did I mention that L’il Sarah was visiting this weekend? Yeah, she witnessed this whole thing so I have corroboration that I’m not making it up.) I said “Hope you’ve got a tall ladder.”

Leading the gentlemen up the stairs I pointed out the entrance to the attic a mere 13 feet above the floor and precariously positioned next to the stairs. Mr. Tattoo said, “I’m not going up there. I’m a too heavy-set to haul myself through that.” No really. His exact words.

Suddenly my signal wasn’t that weak after all. Back downstairs they got me a shorter cable and Bean-Pole went to check the box outside. When he returned I was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room next to my laptop. Mr. Tattoo crouched nearby flapping the empty cd envelope for the self-install cd and asked if I knew where it was. Oddly enough I did. It was in the cd-rom drive where I’d put it so that I could SELF-install the software. Bean-Pole said he’d just get that set up for me then and I said “That’s okay, I’ve got it.”

Both gentlemen looked puzzled as I explained that I’d really prefer if they didn’t mess around with my computer and that I was sure I could handle the installation all by my lonesome. Unconvinced, Bean-Pole said they’d just stick around and make sure I got through it all right. Shrugging and rolling my eyes at Sarah, who incidentally was not hiding her amusement at the whole situation at all, I clicked through a series of windows with no difficulty whatsoever. After successfully manuevering through those tricky “Next” buttons I was set up. So I thought.

Bean-Pole wanted to explain to me how to clear the Proxy information from IE so that it would work properly. I tried telling him it wasn’t necessary but he didn’t believe me until I actually opened Mozilla and showed him that it was working just fine. “I don’t use IE. IE is baaaaad.”

After that Mr. Tattoo just stood back a bit and waited patiently as Bean-Pole then attempted to offer his assistance setting up my Outlook Express. Which would have been nice if a) I didn’t know what I was doing and b) I actually used OE. Since neither applied I reiterated that I was good and could handle it myself. And I did.

Finally Bean-Pole got the idea that I was a capable woman who was comfortable with computers. Took him long enough. Then he did a 180 and started asking me questions about Mozilla. He wanted to know how to change the outgoing mail server. In the space of 30 seconds I went from being some helpless damsel in distress to being knowledgable enough to offer insight to him? I don’t get men.

They finally left and Sarah and I dissolved into laughter as soon as the door was closed. Everything was hunky-dorey and we went about our day merrily. And we went about the next morning merrily as well. I think it was about noon, as Sarah was getting ready to leave in fact, that life really turned into a weird dream.

We were standing at the door with Sarah holding her bags saying our goodbyes when my phone began it’s vibratory dance on the ledge. I ran for it before it had a chance to jiggle itself off it’s ledge. Grabbing it I didn’t recognize the number but since I’ve been dealing with quite a few different companies and such lately I answered gamely. It took a minute to catch what the person was saying but I did finally get it.

“Hi, this is [Bean-Pole] from [cable company].”

“Oh, hi,” I replied.

“I was just there yesterday.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I think I left the box there.”

“The box? What box?”

“The box I brought in, my box.”

“Um, I don’t see any box. I don’t think you left it here.”

“I’m pretty sure I must have left it there.”

“I’m looking now but I don’t see any boxes here and I know I didn’t see anything yesterday either.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep, no box.”

“Hmm, I could have sworn….”

“Sorry, no box here. Looking again. Nope, no box. Sorry.”

“Well, I guess….”

“Yeah, no box sorry. Good luck. Bye.”

Cue Sarah laughing. She asked if it was the Polish cable guy. I told her it was much to her amusement. “He likes you,” she said between giggles then we hugged and I kicked her out.

I seem to be some sort of Polish magnet. But I’m done. I’ve filled my quota. I’ve already dated a blond, a brunette and GFH finished the trifecta with his red hair. That’s it. I’m out. No more Polish guys. Seriously.