The last time a Rogers man visited my apartment I had a full-on meltdown. I’m pretty sure I wrote a blogpost about it, but I can’t find it to reference, so I’ll just say what happened was that the internet I ordered wasn’t wireless. Imagine my utter distress.
Anyway, this time, when a Rogers man turned up unannounced and I had to haul ass out of bed - where I was wallowing in most unjustified misery, as one does at 7pm on a weeknight - I took his visit with gentle acquiescence.
He had come to take away all the boxes that do the things, because our first Rogers bill in this apartment was over $600. Upon receiving this astronomical bill (“At least Dick Turpin wore a mask”, my dad would say) I called Rogers and told them to take it all away. I envisage this phonecall as having had a similar level of unbridled fury as when the Queen of Hearts yells OFF WITH HER HEAD in Alice in Wonderland, and advise you do the same.
We still have internet, because we’re not animals, but cable is gone and so is the landline. Who even has a landline? The Rogers man circulated the apartment gathering items much as a woodland enthusiast would gather mushrooms. I presume. Goodbye all the little black boxes, I hardly knew ye.
I’ve decided, this time, being nearly exactly one year older and wiser than the last time, I shan’t have a meltdown. There’s no cause to have a meltdown, really; cable and a landline are superfluous in the modern age in which we live. Also, I’d asked for them to be spirited away, I hadn’t made a simpleminded faux pas like last time.
Truly, I’d rather not have been disturbed from my gloom and made to interact with another human being whilst wearing pyjamas and odd socks, but perhaps it was for the best. Blog fodder, you might say. Look at me, writing a thing instead of just shrouding myself in despair.
Thank you, Rogers man.