TV monopoly rains on Feline monster world record
The end of June marked the end of Santa Barbara’s ‘rainy season’. This year the county got 41% of normal rainfall - the third year in a row that rainfall was below normal. In fact,
“.. it was way below normal, Nazy.” I explained. “Less than ha lf of normal rainfall.”
“Well..”
“Three years in a row. The reservoirs are emptying. There’s hardly enough water to irrigate Oprah’s estate.”
“Desperate times, eh?”
“Yes, but in a rarely seen event, mathematics is working for us.”
“Mathematics?”
“Right! As we continue to chalk up ‘below average’ years, the average decreases.”
“Wow!”
“If this continues, our seasonal rainfall, even if it doesn’t increase, will not be closer to average - because - get this - the average has decreased.”
“So?”
“Viola! Crisis averted.”
The mathematics is, of course, flawless, but the conclusion is suspect. Troublingly, the current rainfall amounts are actually close to normal over the last 1500 years. The previous 50 or so years - i.e. the time when we started tracking rainfall (and computing the average) - were abnormally wet.
Newsflash: Last Tuesday, July 1, 2014, there was a trace of rain at the official Santa Barbara station. Accordingly, a record for rainfall amount for July 1 was set. In short, until now, there had never been any rainfall on July 1 in Santa Barbara since records began. The ‘rain’ was caused by morning fog that occurs because the ocean is cooler than the land.
The wet weather caused the cable TV system to fail. I called Cox, the monopoly supplier in the land of free enterprise, to arrange a replacement. The ‘service’ call began worrisomely.
“Nazy, I have a blister on my index finger!.” I called.
“How did you do that?”
“I was pushing my way through the helpless desk menu tree - entering our address, my social security number, my blood type, my mother’s maiden name, the cat’s weight and..”
“So why aren’t you talking to them?”
“I’m not sure. They keep saying that I am a ‘valuable customer’, but in between those announcements, they are playing very loud rap music.”
“You’re not a rap music fan.”
“I know.”
After waiting about 40 minutes, I got a customer service agent named Attila. I tried to explain that the cable box was broken, but the agent insisted on following his protocol.
“I want you to turn the box off, wait 45 seconds and turn it on again.”
“I’ve already done that. It didn’t work.”
“Do it again.”
“Done,” I said after waiting 48 seconds. “Now you’re going to send a hard reset down the line. We have to wait 3 minutes to confirm that it didn’t work.”
“I’m sending a hard reset down the line. Wait three minutes..”
It took 15 minutes to confirm that the cable box was broken. Attila agreed to schedule a house visit by a technician: he hung up before completing the arrangements. I put a bandaid on my menu-tree finger and called back. When the new customer service agent, Genghis, finally came on the line, I explained that we had already made a diagnosis. We simply had to schedule a technician. My protestations were to no avail. A power cycle, hard reset and hand-wringing discussion followed. (Genghis claimed that our box had been replaced today - a ‘fact’ entered into the database by the barbarian named Attila.) Genghis finally agreed to schedule a technician - but he hung up before completing the arrangements. I reverted to an on-line chat option and sat on my duff while the newest agent (Olanrewalu) ran through the protocol. Each step of the way, I told him that he had better not disconnect before scheduling a service call. I cut him off when he claimed that I had received two new cable boxes in the last 24 hours.
“You are right,” Olanrewaju said. “The cable box is broken. I can have a technician make a replacement next Tuesday.”
‘Next Tuesday? No TV between now and next Tuesday?”
“That’s correct. It’s the best I can do.”
“Your best is not good enough,” I thought. “I assume I get a credit for the days that the Cox ‘service’ is not working,” I said.
“You will need to talk to the back office people,” Olanrewaju replied. “Good luck,” he thought.
I wisely decided to rely on Nazy’s cheerful manner to negotiate a refund.
Luckily, the TV returned just in time to see the USA/Belgium World Cup Futbol match.
“Luckily?” Nazy asks. “Didn’t we lose?”
“Good point, my dear. Not only did we lose, the Swiss team lost too. There’s no one to cheer.”
“What about Holland?”
“They always break our hearts at the last minute.”
“That’s better than breaking our heart in the round of 16.”
“Are you a Chicago Cubs fan?” I asked.
Our grandson continues to amaze and amuse. Astonishingly, he sleeps at night and is cheerful, alert and awake during the day. He has quickly become the in-house favorite, a transformation that has not gone over well with Melika’s cat (named Monster).
“The cat doesn’t bother the baby, Dad.” Melika explained. “But Monster is obviously distressed.”
“Distressed cats ‘forget’ how to use the litter box, Mel.” I replied.
“Like I said, Dad. Monster is very distressed. I feel bad about that.”
“Is it too late to rethink this ‘baby’ thing?”
“.. it was way below normal, Nazy.” I explained. “Less than ha lf of normal rainfall.”
“Well..”
“Three years in a row. The reservoirs are emptying. There’s hardly enough water to irrigate Oprah’s estate.”
“Desperate times, eh?”
“Yes, but in a rarely seen event, mathematics is working for us.”
“Mathematics?”
“Right! As we continue to chalk up ‘below average’ years, the average decreases.”
“Wow!”
“If this continues, our seasonal rainfall, even if it doesn’t increase, will not be closer to average - because - get this - the average has decreased.”
“So?”
“Viola! Crisis averted.”
The mathematics is, of course, flawless, but the conclusion is suspect. Troublingly, the current rainfall amounts are actually close to normal over the last 1500 years. The previous 50 or so years - i.e. the time when we started tracking rainfall (and computing the average) - were abnormally wet.
Newsflash: Last Tuesday, July 1, 2014, there was a trace of rain at the official Santa Barbara station. Accordingly, a record for rainfall amount for July 1 was set. In short, until now, there had never been any rainfall on July 1 in Santa Barbara since records began. The ‘rain’ was caused by morning fog that occurs because the ocean is cooler than the land.
The wet weather caused the cable TV system to fail. I called Cox, the monopoly supplier in the land of free enterprise, to arrange a replacement. The ‘service’ call began worrisomely.
“Nazy, I have a blister on my index finger!.” I called.
“How did you do that?”
“I was pushing my way through the helpless desk menu tree - entering our address, my social security number, my blood type, my mother’s maiden name, the cat’s weight and..”
“So why aren’t you talking to them?”
“I’m not sure. They keep saying that I am a ‘valuable customer’, but in between those announcements, they are playing very loud rap music.”
“You’re not a rap music fan.”
“I know.”
After waiting about 40 minutes, I got a customer service agent named Attila. I tried to explain that the cable box was broken, but the agent insisted on following his protocol.
“I want you to turn the box off, wait 45 seconds and turn it on again.”
“I’ve already done that. It didn’t work.”
“Do it again.”
“Done,” I said after waiting 48 seconds. “Now you’re going to send a hard reset down the line. We have to wait 3 minutes to confirm that it didn’t work.”
“I’m sending a hard reset down the line. Wait three minutes..”
It took 15 minutes to confirm that the cable box was broken. Attila agreed to schedule a house visit by a technician: he hung up before completing the arrangements. I put a bandaid on my menu-tree finger and called back. When the new customer service agent, Genghis, finally came on the line, I explained that we had already made a diagnosis. We simply had to schedule a technician. My protestations were to no avail. A power cycle, hard reset and hand-wringing discussion followed. (Genghis claimed that our box had been replaced today - a ‘fact’ entered into the database by the barbarian named Attila.) Genghis finally agreed to schedule a technician - but he hung up before completing the arrangements. I reverted to an on-line chat option and sat on my duff while the newest agent (Olanrewalu) ran through the protocol. Each step of the way, I told him that he had better not disconnect before scheduling a service call. I cut him off when he claimed that I had received two new cable boxes in the last 24 hours.
“You are right,” Olanrewaju said. “The cable box is broken. I can have a technician make a replacement next Tuesday.”
‘Next Tuesday? No TV between now and next Tuesday?”
“That’s correct. It’s the best I can do.”
“Your best is not good enough,” I thought. “I assume I get a credit for the days that the Cox ‘service’ is not working,” I said.
“You will need to talk to the back office people,” Olanrewaju replied. “Good luck,” he thought.
I wisely decided to rely on Nazy’s cheerful manner to negotiate a refund.
Luckily, the TV returned just in time to see the USA/Belgium World Cup Futbol match.
“Luckily?” Nazy asks. “Didn’t we lose?”
“Good point, my dear. Not only did we lose, the Swiss team lost too. There’s no one to cheer.”
“What about Holland?”
“They always break our hearts at the last minute.”
“That’s better than breaking our heart in the round of 16.”
“Are you a Chicago Cubs fan?” I asked.
Our grandson continues to amaze and amuse. Astonishingly, he sleeps at night and is cheerful, alert and awake during the day. He has quickly become the in-house favorite, a transformation that has not gone over well with Melika’s cat (named Monster).
“The cat doesn’t bother the baby, Dad.” Melika explained. “But Monster is obviously distressed.”
“Distressed cats ‘forget’ how to use the litter box, Mel.” I replied.
“Like I said, Dad. Monster is very distressed. I feel bad about that.”
“Is it too late to rethink this ‘baby’ thing?”
blog comments powered by Disqus