Working from home has a LOT of advantages. I know I'm lucky -- I come up with the majority of my stories; I can take a time-out and walk the dogs whenever I need a five-minute break; I make my own schedules, with the exception of late-breaking news and the dreaded 5 p.m. Friday house fires.
Working from home can suck, too. Aside from self-motivating and struggling to just.put.it.down. at the end of a day or a week, your office is your shrine and it needs to be in tip-top shape at ALL times.
So, when our wireless internet went down, down DOWN this morning, I think even the birds chirping away outside realized this was just not good.
"Tweet, tweetety tweet. GASP. NO INTERNET??? Ga-bawk!!"
Scott managed to get in touch with his boss and let him know that internet connectivity issues would keep him from starting work at the normal time today. The last time I tried to get in touch with :stupid company name here: I played waiting and then begging games for at least two hours. First of all, they wanted to only speak with Scott, whose last name they had misspelled by one letter. (The first letter, so no big deal, ha!) Then they spoke Mandarin-like technology languages to me. To which I responded by laughing and letting them know that that just wasn't on the side of my brain that I use frequently. And then, after waiting all that time, I was told there was an outtage affecting thousands of customers and it should be figured out in a few hours. Bah.
So Scott joined me for my two-hour nap before normal people begin business hours. Then he got to work, while I attempted to get to work sans www.'s.
First he, being a man who hates making phone calls, tried an online chat. That didn't quite work out.
"Oooooh, a customer service specialist will help me..." I heard.
Then, "OK, Cody A. is just checking account info."
Suddenly, "CRAP! Cody A. just left! Thanks for nothing, dumbass!"
Then, to my surprise, Scott picked up the telephone. Entered in some digits. Recited the Spanish to me. Then he danced.
Danced and danced and danced, in the hallway, in his PJ bottoms, to the "hold" music. FOR 20 MINUTES. I almost peed my pants.
Out of nowhere (and thanks to my lucky stars), the jive movin' and groovin' finally stopped and a quick "OOOOOOOH!" was followed by a manly, "Yes, this is Scott."
And Scott, being Scott, made friends even with the customer service people. (He talked to three of them!) He and one woman with a (this sounds worse than how he meant it) "black lady voice" talked about baseball before she finally changed the first letter of his last name with a laugh.
He also managed to sneak in an HD-upgrade for our flat-screen TV, just sort of dropping in a question on whether or not I'd be home tomorrow for the installation.
Whatever, the $10 a month for "such better kick-ass pictures, Wendy!" is well worth me not dealing with the jive movin' and groovin' that Scott so enjoyed.
So today, he's my hero.
And I'm using my Internet to tell the world.