Man, I love technology, especially the sleek way it looks and the cool things you can do with it. I love everything from smartphones to guitar tuners that work by neck vibrations, from my GPS that marks trout streams in the middle of nowhere, to the DVR that tapes The Daily Show and Downton Abbey, from a flatscreen HDTV that shows the seam spin on an Adam Wainwright curveball, to the Ipad I’m using in The Froth House to write this.

However, when things go bad, it’s not like changing the flapper on our toilet upstairs that trickled water all night. It’s not like gurgle, gurgle, detach the corroded rubber gasket inside the toilet tank, run to the hardware store, find one that looks the same except for the corrosion, run home, pop it on the fill valve, flush the toilet, yep, it works. Two points.

Technology is not like that.

Here’s my latest saga. When we moved into our house in Madison over three years ago, our first service hookup was a bundle for internet, cable TV, and phone. I thought we had everything, a re-wired house, wi-fi, high speed internet for streaming videos, and even the company’s virus protection. Then the internet went out. The cable guy, whom I’m sure I had seen before on Star Trek, came to our house, scuttled around our basement, and said, “Your splitters are in the wrong order. Internet is more demanding than your TV. I fixed it.”  The next week, our cable TV went out.  The cable guy who came this time, a guy I’m sure I saw on the ads for Duck Dynasty, scuttled around our basement and said, “Your splitters are in the wrong order. Cable TV is more demanding that your phone. I fixed it.”  The next week, our phone went out. This time I complained loudly to four people and two computers that answered the help number, and the cable guy who came out was Darth Vader himself, a guy all in black, including his eyebrows and deep eyes. He had the look of a man who had just emerged from two weeks of hacking China’s Central Committee computers from somewhere underground.

“The last guys who crawled around our basement-” I said, but he interrupted – “I don’t need to crawl around your basement. Your return signal is so weak that it is telling our system that everything is turned off.”

“But our signal splitters-” I said, and he merely raised a hand at me. “I hate splitters. I’m installing three separate power supplies to your lines, so your phone, TV, and internet lines will have the same power we use for a business of 100 offices. I’m plugging in the transformers where the line comes into the house. Don’t unplug them. Don’t put your ear next to them, even though they emit a pleasant hum. Do you wear a pacemaker?”

“Not yet,” I said.   “Good,” he said and then disappeared into a foul-smelling mist.

That was three years ago, and everything worked until….

You can stop reading here if you think it’s normal for a cable bill to double and double again to the price of a car payment every month, which wouldn’t be so bad if I had high-powered cable and the car I was paying for, but in this case, there was no car, only the car payment every month.

So I tried to log on to the “contact us” screen using my high-powered, Chernobyl cable system, but it wouldn’t let me access my account because either my username, my password, or my security question based on my favorite sports team was wrong – and it wouldn’t tell me which. I tried every possible combination, with caps, without caps, using the names of teams I liked and some I only sort of liked. I even looked at my hidden file of three pages of passwords and usernames, beginning with AARP and ending with University of Wisconsin. No luck.

I picked up the phone on my separately powered transformer and called the company, using the number on my car payment bill without the actual car, just the bill. The first machine that answered was a pleasant-sounding voice that told me to simply state my concern, such as “I want to install new services,” or “I need to upgrade my TV package.”

“Shit,” I said, and the line immediately went dead. Apparently, the computer was not amused and was also programmed to shut down after expletives.

I waited a few minutes to calm down and called again.  A different computer voice answered, but it said the same thing. I said, “My bill is more than the cost of the pacemaker I can’t wear because of the power transformers in my basement.”

Either the computer did not understand metaphoric comparisons or it was not programmed for bill questions.  I heard three clicks and the whir of something like The Wheel of Fortune. A real woman’s voice came next, who said, “Hi, my name is Shelly.  How can I help you, Mr. Haberl.”

“You know my name?”

“It’s attached to your phone number and account. Would you verify your address and favorite sports team, please?”

“Don’t you already have that information?”

“Yes, but I need to make sure YOU do. What if you’re a hacker for the Central Committee in China or some African sweepstakes winner?  We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“But I’m calling you from my home phone which popped up on your screen. Why would a Chinese hacker or an African sweepstakes winner break into my house just to use my phone and call the cable company?”

She apparently looked down her list of proper responses, couldn’t find anything, and then went with the most general script.

“Um, um, Mr. uh, Haberl, I’m excited about being able to help you today.”

After I convinced her I was not a hacker, she listened to me explain that I could not log on to my account, no matter what sports teams I named, and my monthly bill was approaching the level of a drone-fired hellfire missile, which I was thinking of using on their cable system as soon as I could find one.

Shelly gave a nervous laugh, which I took as a good sign.

“Okay,” she said, “You’d like to lower your bill and you can’t log on, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, I only arrange for new services and upgrades, and you don’t want either of those, so I’m going to transfer you to a specialist who does service removals. Please hold.”

They have a specialist for service removals?

A moment later, a voice said, “Good morning, Mr. Haberl, my name is Becky, and I’m excited to help you today.”  It was the voice of a sixteen-year-old cheerleader who just got a prom date, no it was worse than that – it was the voice of a cheerleader whose team was already losing 64 to nothing and she believed everything depended on her cheeriness. I sighed.

“Okay, Becky, my total bill is way too high and I need to know what is the lowest cable package available.  I’m also thinking about discontinuing our phone service since we mostly use our smartphones, and I want the slowest internet money can buy.”

“I’m so excited to help you. Here’s what I can do – let’s see – I can reduce your phone cost by over half because of our new You-Deserve-It-All package, and we’ll pay the tax, so your phone service will be $19.95, and you were already on the slowest, cheapest internet service, but we’ve installed new routers in our Faster-Than-the-Speed-of-Light package, so I can double your speed for the same price you were paying and your modem is still the fastest one we have in homes, so let me push that button, and – there – done – and I see that the cable package you have is based mostly on sports. I can give you a lower package but your wife might not be happy.”

“Why not?”

“She won’t be able to watch Oprah or one of her soap operas.”

“She doesn’t watch Oprah any more, and her soap opera went off the air two years ago.”

“Okay, so let me push this button, and – there – you now have our “Husband-Gets-Sports-and-Wife-Gets-Romantic-Comedies package, and, let’s see, I’ve reduced your bill by over $60.00 per month. Does that help?”

“Yes, but-”

“And you need to re-do your login. That’s a different specialist, so hold please.”

I was still in shock. All she did was push two buttons, which could have been done any time in the last three years, and my monthly bill would have gone from a car payment to a new bicycle every month.

“Good morning, Mr. Haberl, my name is (because of his talking speed and accent, which could have been Indian, Swahili, or Polish, I think his name was either Antwan or Yeshblinka, and I couldn’t tell which), and I am so excited to help you today.”

“Um,” I said.

“I see that you tried to log on to your account eleven times this morning, and you were locked out four times because of too many failed attempts.  What was the problem?”

“Um, either my username, my password, or my favorite sports team security question was wrong, and I couldn’t tell which.”

“You know there is a help screen to download answers to the most frequently asked questions.  There’s a blue button in the top right corner.”

“But don’t I have to be logged on to my account to get to the help screen?”

“Of course, how silly, I’m so excited to help you today. Let’s see, do you still like the Cardinals?”

“Yes.”

“And is your username ‘Flyfish?'”

“Yes.  So what was my password?”

“That is blocked out on my screen.  You wouldn’t want me or hackers from China to-”

“But-”

“I am happy to announce to you today that all is not lost. I cannot quote your password to you today, but I can help you reset your password to a new one, and you can get in that way.”

“Isn’t that what hackers do?”

“Yes, some do that, but I assure you, I am not a hacker and I am not in China or Africa.”

“But wouldn’t I be hacking into my own account?”

“Not exactly.  What you will be doing is authorized hacking. You authorize yourself with your new password to go into your account.  It’s like a side door. It works every time. So, what would you like your new password to be?”

I gave him a new password and on the fourth try we agreed on one was long enough, had at least one capital letter, a number, and a symbol.

He told me to write it down very carefully and read it back to him.  After that, he said, “And do you want any upgrade or new services today?”

“No,” I said, “I’m trying to reduce my bill and -”

“Oh, I am so sorry. I am not a reduction in services specialist. I must transfer you.”

“No, please,” I said, but I was too late.

A fourteen-year-old cheerleader whose team had just lost 75 to nothing came on and said, “Hello, Mr. Haberl, I am so excited to help you today. You say you want to reduce your bill, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, I see that you have our old Husband-Gets-Sports-and-Wife-Gets-Romantic-Comedies package. I can give you a new lineup in which you get all the sports you have been watching but I will cut out competitive bungee jumping, the World Series of Gardening, and the Moving Sponge Obstacle Course.”

“But I kind of like obstacle courses. I mean, this phone call alone-”

“But you haven’t watched it for three years.”

“Yes, you’re right.  What about my wife?”

“Our new package will reduce your bill by eleven dollars and twenty-three cents, and your wife will get the Oprah network and some new soap operas. Is that agreeable?”

“Um,”

“Okay, I just push this button here – and – you’re all set.”

“What’s this new package called?”

“Um,” he paused and I heard some papers shuffling. “Um, it’s so new, it’s, uh, it’s, called the ‘You-Deserve-It-All’ package. I am so excited to help you today. Please hold for a short survey and entry ticket into our sweepstakes.”

“No, please-” I said, but I was too late.  Sometimes I really don’t like talking to people.  Just give me a machine and three choices. That’s what I got.

It was another overly cheerful voice that asked me to hold for a brief survey to improve their service, but this one had a slightly metallic ring to it, like the woman who recorded it was in a spaceship, which would explain where my cable company got its technical support guys who made house calls. It went through the usual loaded questions, such as “Was the technical support person cheerful? Say ‘one’ for very cheerful, ‘two’ for moderately cheerful, or ‘three’ for not very cheerful.”

“Which support person?” I answered, and the alien in her UFO said, “That is not a valid answer. Please say ‘one’ for…” and so on.  After fifteen minutes of trying to get through six easy questions, I’d had enough, said good-bye, and ended the call. I wouldn’t have won the sweepstakes anyway. The survey was probably taken by 10,000 people that day alone. Man, I hate technology. I want to put it all in a box, take it out to a field, and beat all the components with a baseball bat. I have a good memory of some guys doing that.

I know robots will eventually solve our problems. We won’t fight wars anymore; we’ll just send our robots against the enemy’s robots in some forsaken place like Afghanistan, and then watch the whole thing from drones. The winner will get all of the loser’s assets, which will merely be numbers in some IMF account. It’s not like we’re going to advance enough to end war; we’ll just change how we fight it.

When we realize that football has become too dangerous because of players who are too big, too fast, and too well-trained to follow piddling rules like “It’s a fifteen-yard penalty to hit a defenseless receiver in the chest or back with your helmet,” we will have robot football, and actual heads will fly off, or at least pop up like those toy red and blue boxers used to do after a direct shot to the chin.  I think those football players will look like the droid on the Fox Sports leads, you know, the one with the logo on a shield that appears out of the robot’s shoulder. That will be football, our latest substitute for war. Timeouts will exist only to retrieve shrapnel, run a Zamboni over the gridiron to scoop up arms, replace batteries, and allow viewers to get more popcorn, pizza, or whatever new combination of salt, sugar, and fat the latest corporations hawk to us.

Please excuse me while I look for my baseball bat.