Technologically Challenged

Yesterday, our internet at home decided it did not want to play. So, I engaged in that time-honored ritual — I unplugged all the wires, counted to twenty, plugged in all the wires.

And still no internet.

Then after dinner, I had Younger pull all the wires. And we lived without internet for an hour or so.

Not really. We are no longer capable of living without internet. We actually drained the data on our phones.

But when we reattached all the wires to the modem, we still could not access the home internet. So, frustrated, I called the phone company.

After ten minutes of trying to answer the mechanical man who assured me I could speak to him in full sentences but kept asking me the same questions, I finally voiced, “Can you connect me to a real person?”

Then he put me on hold for eight minutes. Where another mechanical voice would randomly thank me for my patience. As if that would make me have some.

It didn’t.

The same voice would randomly tell me if I could access the internet on my phone or tablet, I could use the app to have my conversation with a service tech. After the fifth recitation of that bit of advice, I yelled at my phone that if I had the internet, I wouldn’t be calling them. But, of course, the only response was the mechanical voice once again thanking me for my patience.

I still didn’t really have any. I may have had less than what I began with.

Yeah, actually, I did have less.

When I finally got through to a real person, she asked me what state I was from and gave me the “correct” number to call. So, I politely thanked her and ended the connection. Only to discover that was the number I had called twenty minutes earlier.

And my patience was officially fried to a crumbly crisp.

So, I fired up my hotspot and logged into our account on the website and started a live chat with a nice lady who told me to “take all my time” as I kept sending Younger upstairs to search the modem for whatever number she was asking for at the time.

Eventually, Younger showed up at the bottom of the stairs, a bit sheepish. “Uhhhhhmmm, Mom? I think maybe the modem didn’t get plugged back into the outlet a while ago. I think the internet is working now.”

Apparently, maybe, we aren’t sure exactly, but I might have unplugged the modem from the outlet then forgot I had done so. Then I might have sent Younger upstairs to pull all the wires and he might have unplugged the wires from the back of the modem, not realizing I had done my damage first.

And, when he put all the wires back into the appropriate places, he was still unaware the modem was actually unplugged from the outlet.

Which is probably a rather important component of a working modem.

So, yeah, I guess I’ll work on my patience.

And, I suppose, my memory, too.

 

Advertisements

Evil Kin

Younger has a convenient excuse to visit his grandparents several nights a week — internet.

“I need to use the internet, Mom,” he will tell me.

But it is often an excuse. Because the library has internet.

The library doesn’t have grandma and grandpa. And the library doesn’t spoil him rotten.

The library doesn’t  “feed him against his will.”

“I’ll just tell Grandpa I’d like pizza,” he told me one day as we sped along the highway.

“You leave your grandpa alone,” I warned him, shooting him a glance, shaking my head at his mischievous grin. “Younger . . .”

A few minutes after I arrived home from delivering him to his grandparents I received a text —

“I swear on my life, first thing he said when he came in was, ‘younger, you want to order a pizza.’ ”

Yeah, he’s fed against his will.

These grandparents are evil, evil folk.

Betrayal

Living somewhere in the back of beyond, we have few options for internet. For the last eighteen months, we have settled on tethering to our phones. But we only have twenty gig of data.

So, let’s do some math.

Twenty gig of data divided by two young men equals . . . no data in about five minutes.

Since I need internet for my employment, we have warned the boys that we will shut them down at six gig.

And so we have.

Every. Single. Month.

This month they almost lasted three weeks. But on Tuesday, Younger’s birthday, I checked the current usage.

“You’re over your limit,” I told Younger.

“No, I’m not,” he stated, staring into my eyes like he had access to the Jedi mind trick. “I’m not over my limit.”

I rolled my eyes, and due to the day being his seventeenth birthday, I allowed him to continue to have access.

His dad was not so gifting. Or perhaps he is immune to the Jedi.

“Will be late. Had to stop to turn off the boys’ data,” he texted me while I was in class.

“The betrayal,” Younger howled as soon as I stepped into the house. “The treachery.”

“You know the limits, Younger,” I responded.

“How can you so betray me? Your only teenage son?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Where do you want to go for your birthday?”

“Wherever they have internet.”

“You are spending time with your family, not your phone.”

“Oh, the betrayal!”

Ah, that he has to deal with such perfidy. And on his birthday, even.

Life . . . without internet . . . apparently, it ain’t for the sissies.

I really don’t know how are forefathers survived.

 

 

 

 

 

Not Eating That

After I scrub my kitchen sink, I always throw my sponge into the microwave for thirty seconds to kill any germs.

Does that work?

Well, I read it on the internet, so . . .

Of course.

Right?

Well, sometimes, I don’t always respond to the microwave’s first notification that my sponge is finished cooking. Especially if I am in the middle of fixing dinner at the same time.

So, one night, Younger wandered through the kitchen, checking the contents of the pots and pans. Then the oven. Then the microwave.

He took one look at the green, rectangular pad on the glass plate and declared, “I’m not eating that.” And swung the microwave door closed with an emphatic thud of determination.

Yeah, he’s a real riot.