Got More Important Things to Do?

Awakening to find my Internet connection had gone to a place known only to Comatose is a crap way to start the day. Why the Comcast re-name? Because the child-tech picking up my call for diagnostic help was barely understandable, mumbling absent-mindedly as though I had disrupted a pressing task—like applying makeup. Her instructions were muddy and nearly indecipherable. While she got the connection back, she summarily disconnected the call before either of us could bid the other a fond farewell. And they wonder why I habitually hit “no” when Comcast asks me to “take a short service survey.”

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