Of Cable and Megarita Losing Her Touch

I overslept in a big way Wednesday--until 10 am, to be exact. It felt terrific. What finally dragged me from the sweet embrace of my t-shirt sheets was the irritating perkiness of my cell phone ringing. I reached out and grabbed it, mumbled "roh?", and heard the equally irritating drawl of Wilkes, my cable guy. (Names changed to protect the witless.)

Cable guy, due between 1-5 pm, was here and could he please come by in 10 minutes? "Ruh?" I said, wondering what day, or perhaps what year it was? Where was I? Why were there exposed beams in my ceiling? Why wasn't the room doused in sunlight? This wasn't the Nest!?!?!?

After a good 5 second head-shake I remembered who and where and potentially even when I was, and told the cable guy to hang tight. I threw on clothes, brushed my teeth, pulled hair back, and opened the door just as I realized that my laptop was still on campus in my drawer. Crap. He'll need that for my cable internet! So I tore off in my car, literally ran through my department, surprising one overachieving undergrad who had met me wearing a suit the day before, and got home as he was standing outside my door looking perplexed. This look, it would turn out, was permanent.

I had signed up for basic cable and internet. Because I need a secure line and I can't just mooch of my neighbor's wireless forever! That's what the coffeehouse is for! What I didn't realize was what cable means here in the DS.

It means Jesus 24/7.

(Let me just state now that I had not, repeat, had not had my coffee yet while all this was happening)

I merrily turned on the cable while Wilkes was working on my computer and clicked through the networks and C-Span ("Woo!" I said! "C-Span!" Wilkes responded, "I use that to help me fall asleep." "Democracy in action," I muttered.). I kept clicking through my 20-odd channels and found Univision, the Home Shopping Network, and four stations devoted to Jesus Christ our Lord.

"Wilkes," I said, using my Scarlett O'Hara best, "there appear to be several church stations on my television. I don't believe I require this many. Is there any way you could give me another station to replace one of them?"

Wilkes grins sheepishly and says, "Naw. There sure are a lot of 'em, aren't there?" "Yes. Yes, there are. I am a decent church-going person, Wilkes [rumble of thunder], and I really find this excessive. Is this a [Southern] Cable thing?" This goes on for a while.

At this point I am standing up, pacing in front of my television, and I look down and realize that I have accidentally thrown on a very short pair of shorts and a very snug t-shirt this morning. I realize, "hey! I'm cute!" and try to arrange my limbs in some sort of appealing shape before asking Wilkes again what he can do to help me out.

Not a damn thing. Wilkes is completely unfazed by my morning self, short shorts be damned. What is happening!? Can I not make a cable man do something for me? Who am I? Have I gotten to that dreadful point where I can not bat my eyelashes anymore? NO!!!!!!!!

So I've got a dial full of Jesus, an excellent internet connection, and a cable guy who's called twice since he left "to check and make sure everything was working ok."

"It's fine, Wilkes," I say, "Jerry Falwell says hello."