No Internet and Lost Homework

On Monday night, my internet cut out on me. I wish that were the beginnings of an amazing saga that would entertain you to the point of wetting yourself, but not luck. Dry pants for you. It through me off though, and I didn't get to blog yesterday. But it gets me to wondering: why is it that technical support that talks you through every possible trouble-shooting step has such a thick accent? It doesn't bother me so much, the work gets done and nobody gets hurt, but honestly. If companies are saving money by hiring out people from India, wouldn't the phone bill be enough to make that venture not worth it? Maybe the cost of calling people has come way down from where it used to be, but whatever. It still seems like a mighty big hassle.

Yesterday, I called the company to get my internet back up and running. A guy had already been to my house and said that the wireless signal was strong and that I shouldn't have a problem (grr). So I called the company and talked to a nice, script-reading technician named Shawn/Sean. He took me through all the steps that I had done the night before, then told me to take off all the DSL filters from the phone jacks. "Wouldn't that disconnect us?" I asked. He assured me that it would, but, lucky me, I could call them back on my cell phone. Oh joy! Called back on my cell, had to talk to a whole new person who took all my information down again and listened to my sob story that I had told twice before. Long and short of it, they can do nothing for me. Internet is still out, and somebody has to come by today. Stupid.

Speaking of stupid, I tried to find a fold full of student papers this morning. I keep them in a groovy Chuck Norris folder in my room, but when I went to get them, the folder was gone. Bah nuh nuh! I wandered around the room, checked the trash and was convinced that a student had jacked my Norris folder. I swore vengeance with a round house kick to the face. Ten minutes later I remembered that I took the folder home last night and left it in my car. And I brought my wife's car in this morning. Blast. Now I must prepared to round house kick myself to the face. It's gonna hurt, but that's how Chuck would want it.