Not Bond. Not James Bond.
So it's early morning and I'm sitting with coffee in the darkened office, scrounging for nuggets of gratifying information on the Intertubes, and I click and I get the page that says Firefox can't find the server. The more I click all the open tabs, the more I get the message. Only cached stuff is available. I check the e-mail. Nothing. I check the modem, that's OK. Hmm.
I go to an old computer that can still access a dial-up account. I know, only the Amish use dial-up any more but I just happen to have this option available. It says it can't get a dial tone. Preposterous! I pick up the phone. No dial tone.
Damn.
See, I happen to have Verizon's FIOS optical line powering all the communication stuff in my house except for the cell, obviously. I feel a certain dismay. Running your life this way is like using a parachute—you need to be able to trust it because if it doesn't work, you have a problem. And the last thing I want to do is try to call a large corporation on a cell phone and try to get a human being to solve my problem. I'm a rational person who believes in setting achievable goals, and that—well, hoping for that to happen is nuts.
So I got a flashlight and went out in the dark to my shed, where the big box they installed when they put the fiber in is located. It's about the size of a briefcase, and as I peered at it I saw there were about 15 indicator lights, and one of them was blinking red. "Fail," it said. Gotcha. I wasn't sure what to do next. It was like all those scenes in the Bond films where a reactor is heading for a blowup or the missiles are about to launch or something pretty dire will happen soon if Bond doesn't figure out the control panel. He keeps his head, of course—his jaw is clenched because it's a dicey situation but he figures the deal out because the story would end the wrong way otherwise. Me, stuck in real life where we don't know how the story ends, me, I just stared glumly at the box, there in the gloom. Unless there was a big red button that said "Reset" or "Make Everything Good Again" I wasn't sure what to do. But as I watched, the "fail" light went from blinking red to steady green. Hmm.
Picked up the phone in the kitchen. Dial tone. Went up to the office. The Intertubes were back.
This time, anyway.
I go to an old computer that can still access a dial-up account. I know, only the Amish use dial-up any more but I just happen to have this option available. It says it can't get a dial tone. Preposterous! I pick up the phone. No dial tone.
Damn.
See, I happen to have Verizon's FIOS optical line powering all the communication stuff in my house except for the cell, obviously. I feel a certain dismay. Running your life this way is like using a parachute—you need to be able to trust it because if it doesn't work, you have a problem. And the last thing I want to do is try to call a large corporation on a cell phone and try to get a human being to solve my problem. I'm a rational person who believes in setting achievable goals, and that—well, hoping for that to happen is nuts.
So I got a flashlight and went out in the dark to my shed, where the big box they installed when they put the fiber in is located. It's about the size of a briefcase, and as I peered at it I saw there were about 15 indicator lights, and one of them was blinking red. "Fail," it said. Gotcha. I wasn't sure what to do next. It was like all those scenes in the Bond films where a reactor is heading for a blowup or the missiles are about to launch or something pretty dire will happen soon if Bond doesn't figure out the control panel. He keeps his head, of course—his jaw is clenched because it's a dicey situation but he figures the deal out because the story would end the wrong way otherwise. Me, stuck in real life where we don't know how the story ends, me, I just stared glumly at the box, there in the gloom. Unless there was a big red button that said "Reset" or "Make Everything Good Again" I wasn't sure what to do. But as I watched, the "fail" light went from blinking red to steady green. Hmm.
Picked up the phone in the kitchen. Dial tone. Went up to the office. The Intertubes were back.
This time, anyway.
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