Dear Comcast, you're dead to me

I never intended for this blog to be my soapbox of technological complaints, but I also didn't count on being swindled by a heartless monopoly.

This relationship was hanging by a thread, but it is now, officially, over.


Dear Comcast,

Get your things and move out.

Sure, it started alright. You promised high speed Internet and (swoon) cable at a reasonable rate. You were accommodating and let me chose the time and day for our first meeting.

You were on time and, though you were slightly brisk and messy, you did what you said you would. I believed in you...in us.

And how quickly things changed. The honeymoon period only lasted a few days - not even a week?!

My Internet was the first to go and I didn't even hesitate to call you, thinking you'd rush to my aid. But you only pretended to listen. You weren't even paying attention, you were already checking out newer customers.

You avoided coming over to fix what you broke. I had to go and get my own modem - you call that gentlemanly?

And when that didn't work I called you back and you put on that sweet tone, saying you'll come out and help me this time. "What time is best for you," you asked. Mornings, I said. But then you just scheduled me an appointment between 2 and 6, keeping me at home so I couldn't pursue other options.

And just when I thought things were going good between us - the Internet was on and it was fast - the cable went out.

I just knew I couldn't depend on you. I even tried to fix it myself.

But that's just your game. You make it impossible for me to do anything for myself.

I even erased your number from my phone, not that it wasn't on the tip of my tongue.

I called and you just kept me waiting, playing that same old song.

What you say, it's just words. You tell me you'll come by, in a week, maybe two, if you have the chance. You're busy, you say. Reminding me I'm not the only one.

You're condolences are empty. You talk me through a half-hearted solution that turns the black void into basic cable, as if to mock my hopes. You even manage to turn the blame around, saying it's my fault for not upgrading to a better set.

Don't deny you're not laughing when you think of the channels you've left me: telemundo, info-mercials and a 24-7 Steven Segal movie station.

And I try to fight back. This is the last straw, I demand. But my fight is tired and my voice has the quiver of tears.

So I say it more to myself: I don't need this kind of abuse.

Except...well, I did so love the way you made the sweet sweet food network available. And those shows on demand? What of the occasional Hills episode? Could I really live without it?

I already know how this will play. You'll starve me of cable shows. I'll waste my only free day waiting for you. You'll arrive late, all coyness and indifference. Within ten minutes you'll be gone and I'll stuff myself with channels, elated with your work.

So quickly I'll forget the heartache that preceded.

This is our game.

But I hate you so much right now (come back!).

xoL