Our Internet quit working last night.
I frantically unplugged and replugged, disconnected and reconnected. Rebooted my computer. Unplugged the modem again. Lather, rinse, repeat, more and more frazzled. And still, the light would not turn green.
Finally, after thirty minutes, I called our Internet Service Provider. The automated voice asked a series of questions to which I responded, “YES!” or “NO!” with increasing frustration, but, as it turns out, automated customer service agents do not really care about your tone of voice or your rage.
Finally, the robot lady voice told me she could not detect my modem online and that she would transfer me to a real person. I don’t know. I was practically frothing at the mouth by that point.
Then–after twelve minutes of being on the phone–I spoke to a real person who also could not see my modem online and who finally, sadly, told me that a technician would have to come out in person between one and three the next afternoon.
That was really not okay since I needed to work online immediately, but what can you do at 9:40 PM when the real live guy says he cannot detect your modem online? (I unplugged it and replugged it a few more times anyway, just for good measure.)
I did get to enjoy a parade of my distraught children marching into my office one by one to let me know that they could not get online.
I have been the IT person in this family since the days of AOL and dial-up and yet my children had the audacity to suggest that maybe I should “reset the modem.” I believe I glanced at them with what might be commonly known as a Death Glare.
They looked at me like I was a feeble old lady incarcerated in a nursing home who doesn’t understand technical things like computers and the World Wide Web and the Internet and electricity and entertainment.
The pain was real. They could not play their video games! They could not view their Netflix movies! They could not watch YouTube videos or Skype.
Meanwhile I was freaked out because I could not do this little thing called “WORK” which requires me to be online every night.
I used my phone and its cellular data to work as much as possible. The darling children just had to suffer all night without their access to the outside world. Poor babies.
Anyway, after sixteen hours of dead Internet, it sprang back to life fifteen minutes before the technician’s “window” began. I called the ISP who said the technician would still come. And he did, but an hour after the “window” ended. (He was supposed to come between 1 and 3 PM. He arrived a little after 4 PM.)
The technician guy looked like he belonged in a video game swinging a sword instead of troubleshooting glitchy technology. He was about 6’4″ and had a thick Russian accent. (He was afraid of my extremely friendly big dog which was kind of surprising.) He and his very long blond ponytail spent an hour wandering outside and then inside and then back outside.
He finally rang the doorbell and told me everything was fine and I don’t know why I even asked, but I said, “So, did you actually do anything?” and he said (a little defensively), “No.” He showed me the green indicators on the little tablet he carried and assured me that the signals were all good. (As opposed to when he arrived and said the signals were “poor” even though we had Internet again.)
So, let’s review.
My Internet inexplicably stopped working last night at 9:10 PM.
Today, it started working again at 12:45 PM.
No one understands why or how it was fixed including, but not limited to the automated computer voice on the phone, the real customer service guy on the phone, the Russian swordsman and me.
The kids are just relieved they can access their many entertainment options and, oh yeah, also do their homework.