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Date: 2010-02-09, 10:00AM MST
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I was in line at that dreadful Comcast customer service pit to return my modem and cancel service anyway. My mind was made up. For all the reasons I don't have to list here, FUCK COMCAST. My building got wireless service recently. I'm done. The guy on the phone didn't do a good job at saving my account.
"How does $42 a month sound?"
"Can you beat free?" I inquired. I asked him if I could send the modem back in the mail and avoid the trip to their drop-off center.
"No."
Whatever. Getting the $56 a month monkey off my back felt good no matter what. I had no regrets at all. You sealed the deal when you shit your pants.
That was seriously nasty. Everyone thought it was the little kid at first, but I knew right away it was you. I know I can't blame Comcast for whatever it is that makes you unable to control your bowels. I know that line was long and the service fairly slow. People have complicated fucking issues with their cable and phone. That line was an audition for the Jerry Springer show ( I mean that in a loving way), complete with a woman who shits her pants. That was unreal, lady, just unreal. I know you did it while you were standing in line because you didn't smell that rotten when I took my place in line behind you.
Granted, that customer-service counter IS a remarkably good place to shit your pants. The carpet is filthy. The walls have been smeared by the hands of innumerable children. You can't help but notice right away that the customer service agents are behind glass. Lashonda gets mad when the account be closed. No big deal, really. I enjoy the pagent of human existence. I suppose even to include the lady who shit her pants yesterday afternoon. Comcast is too cheap to buy a rope line, so people line up as they see fit and let the kids roam free.
Holy fuck that stunk,and the line wasn't going anywhere. 15 mintues of that was enough to upset my cast-iron stomach. I trained on a vast UNDERGROUND fish market in Asia; I know what stench is. I couldn't back up, either. The line had formed behind me in that airless chamber. The room was suffering. You could see it on the stricken face of the woman who helped you. She went in the back and threw up after you left. First, she came to the agent helping me and asked for "the spray." I guess people shit themselves often there. The people who have been standing behind me gave me sympathetic looks as I left: I had endured ground zero. My only thought was to get outside as quickly as possible.
But that really sealed the deal for me. My new wireless connection is great. And free. If I ever think I might want to go back to Comcast, all I have to do is think about the lady with scanty beard hair shitting her pants in a dingy lobby and I'll return to my senses right away.
