WHY I NEED Y'ALL TO SEND BAIL MONEY

WARNING: What you are about to read is a true story. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent and prevent the author from being sued by a huge multi-national conglomerate.

SCENE: Midnight in the state of Indiana, USA. A lonely spinster and her little dog settle in for a night of "Sex and the City" reruns and some serious stitchy time. Suddenly, the cablevision goes out for no apparent reason whatsoever.

SPINSTER: *#&$^%!!! Stewey, hand me the remote. Did you change the channel again? Stop doing that! We're going to watch these episodes on regular TeeVee and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm NOT going to get up and go find the DVDees just so you can watch all of the dirty parts unedited.

(The Spinster snatches the remote from the little dog's perfectly manicured paw and then proceeds to hit every button on the damn thing in the hopes of switching on the thingie. This, of course, is a purely technical term, and should not be used by non-professionals from outside the cablevision industry.)

After several futile minutes, the spinster decides to call the cablevision company. This seemingly easy task is complicated by the automated menu selections that tell her to "Press One for actual live girl-on-girl customer service" or "Press Two if you'd like to scream profanity at us for screwing up your evening TeeVee viewing plans."

The Spinster decides to "Press One" and in a mere eighteen minutes, she is connected with Tamika (spelling is assumed, of course, because the spinster is not at all familiar with the proper spelling of the name, and since we're burning daylight here people, she doesn't feel compelled to clarify.)

TAMIKA: Thank you for calling blah blah. This is Tamika speaking, may I have your account number please?

SPINSTER: Why yes, hello, Tamika. My name is Coni blah blah and I am calling in reference to account number blah blah.

T: Thank you, Mrs. Blah. Now can you tell me the nature of the problem?

S: Oh, please call me Coni, Tamika. I'm actually a Miss and not a MRS. For reasons that escape me at the moment, I seem to have forgotten to get married and have kids like I always wanted to. Sorry. I regress. The nature of the problem? Well, it seems that my cablevision has gone out.

T: I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience.

S: You're welcome, and thank you for your apology. Can you fix the problem?

T: One moment please.

(Six minutes of silence ensues.)

S: Tamika? Are you still there? Did I lose you?

T: I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience.

S: Whew. For a minute there I thought maybe I had been disconnected.

T: One moment please.

(Another eight minutes of silence ensues during which the spinster attempts to fix the cablevision herself by banging repeatedly on the side of the TeeVee armoire. This, it would seem, is not the proper method by which one restores one's service.)

S: Tamika? I tried to fix it myself, but it doesn't look like it's working yet. Are you having any luck on your side? Could it be an outage in my area? Is it possible that a neighbor is playing tricks on me? Has an opossum found its way into the big thingie outside and disconnected something?

T: I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience.

S: Well, it's not so much as an inconvenience as it is a (the spinster pauses here to mimic the Miranda Priestly character from The Devil Wears Prada)...disappointment. I mean, you pay your bill on time, you forego groceries and gas in the car in lieu of a movie channel or two, and it seems that when you need it most, the cablevision just isn't there for you. Do you know what I mean? Can you feel my angst?

T: I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience.

(This time, the spinster sings show tunes while waiting patiently during the eighteen minutes of silence that ensues.)

S: Tamika? It's going on 2am here and I'm afraid that I will need to think about going to bed soon. It's not that I'm tired actually, but if I don't go to bed now, I am likely to sit up all night stitching, and then I will most definitely not be worth anything tomorrow. Or the next day. Did you ever notice that as you get older you have a harder time recovering from an all-nighter, and it takes you twice as long to get back to normal than it did when you were, oh, I don't know, say eighteen and in college?

T: I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience.

S: Tamika? I swear I hear you doing a Sudoku over there. Are you even trying to fix my cablevision, or are you so entertained by my rambling that you've forsaken your task at hand and are now updating your Facebook page with a story about some crazy woman from Indiana who had the unmitigated gall to call you because the cablevision that she pays for stopped working suddenly and without reason?

T: I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience.

S: OK, this is ridiculous. You're obviously not listening to me, or you'd at least giggle a bit over my sardonic wit and ability to be cheerful at this hour of the morning. And! Based on your canned response, I am assuming that you have a big fat binder in front of you and that it says "When confronted by disgruntled spinster, repeat the phrase "I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience" until said spinster hangs up on you in disgust and pokes herself in the eye with a knitting needle repeatedly." Well, let me tell you something, missy. Not all spinsters knit! As a matter of fact, I tried knitting once and didn't like it at all! And I don't wear cardigans or sensible shoes either. I wear hoodies and clogs! I drink wine and martinis! I go on adventures and I ogle men with impunity! I am single handedly changing the face of spinsterhood everywhere, Tamika, and I won't be mocked because of it. Do you understand me?

T: I'm sorry for your inconvenience, thank you for your patience.

S: All right! That's it! I DIDN'T WANT TO DO THIS, BUT I MUST DEMAND THAT I SPEAK TO A SUPERVISOR RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!

T: Mrs. Blah? I am a supervisor. How may I help you?

S: (astounded silence ensues)

T: Mrs. Blah?

(The connection goes dead at the precise moment the spinster hurls the telephone across the continent. The little dog sighs in disgust and puts himself to bed, making sure to close and lock his bedroom door so he won't have to listen to the four and a half hour rant that is sure to follow.)

SCENE: A darkened front yard in the state of Indiana, USA. A spinster stomps to the cablevision box clutching a screwdriver and some duct tape, while her nightgown billows about her "considerably sturdy" frame. Profanity and loose soil litter the air as the cover is wrenched from the box and the delicate wires are exposed. They are carefully considered before the spinster takes a deep breath, jams the screwdriver into the center of the mass of wire, and returns to the house. A primal scream resonates throughout the neighborhood. On the television screen is a simple, yet utterly tragic message:

WE'RE SORRY FOR YOUR INCONVENIENCE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.

END SCENE.

THE END.