I know this for...I listened to their music while trying to arrange a fix to a problem. The house has security lights, fore and aft.
Once in a billion firefly moments, the bulb goes in the front one (or the back one) and I summon a technician from the depths to fix the front one (or the back one) and life goes on as normal.
Usually, these fuckers break down at a distance of six months.
Not this time. You notice the strobe lights going, in the night. Well, shit, the bulb is fizzling. I'll call it in. By the time the electrician shows up, that bulb will be deceased.
I phone it in. First I have to crack my screen open by sliding across the touch-sensitive surface as though skating is going out of fucking fashion. Next I crank the volume up by hitting the speaker button.
Almost there. This telephone will self-destruct in five seconds. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is not to hang up in rage while waiting to be served.
I hit the number-pad function so that I can key in the requests with some degree of confidence.
For rabid dogs, ghostbusting, and Stonehenge, press 1.
If you are contacting us through the Ouija board, knock twice for yes.
Should your telephone only allow you to press up to the first three numbers, press 3 now.
Calls may be monitored in the lower reaches of hell, purely for training-purposes and raising demonic armies.
You. Are. Number. TWO. In. The. Queue.
That robot interrupts Stevie Wonder to tell me I am number two in the queue. Stevie leaves the stage and makes way for Adele. For the duration of a whole Adele song, I am number one in the queue...and I feel special.
Another song replaces Adele's. I am still number one in the charts. Another tune staggers on, in replacement. I am number one for a full ten minutes.
And I refuse to hang up. I stare out of the kitchen window, telling myself I was wise to start this call at that time of day...allowing myself extra time before diving into mid-morning routine.
That extra extra extra time evaporates. Well, that's what it is there for - to evaporate. To provide an extra cushion against the blow.
I am number one in the queue, rehearsing what the fuck I am going to say when a human voice eventually contacts me.
Security light. Broken. Yes, broken, but not broken. The bulb is going.
Now I expect a robot to tell me that Skynet has taken over and destroyed everything.
Finally, human contact. I am asked if the light is hanging off the wall. Yes, I could lie and say this is the case, but, damn, that will piss off the guy sent to look at the job.
Instead, I go through the particulars and we set a date for the repair. All is well. It's not a rush-job, and I know that.
Next night I head for the bin at the back of the property. Strobe, in the night. Well, shit. The other light has gone, almost at the same time as the front one fizzled.
There's a shocker. To have two lights go within a few days of each other, that's unusual timing. It is shitty timing. If the second light failed just a shade earlier, I'd have made one call.
Here I am, back in the kitchen, mid-morning, with other things to do, and I must call the musical helpline again.
But wait, what's this?! I can dial up and ask for the same job to be revised. Fuck it, that's so much easier. Let me do that. And let that be easy.
Of course, no.
It starts with promise, this epic journey. I heave boulders off my phone and reach the number. Speaker. Dial-pad. Finger at the ready. For a call about a previous call, I should press...
And so I do.
There is no queue. I am sent straight through to a human being, who confirms details of the original repair, checks my blood pressure and type, notes eye-colour and waist-measurement...
So, will they just add the second repair to the first?
No, they can't do that. They must scrub the initial repair and put both repairs together at a later date. I'm given a time that isn't next week but the week after the week after that.
Oh-kay.
Fucking hell. Sometimes I wonder why I bother.
Here's why I do, though. The nights draw in. And the security lights are vital if I am forced into the garden at night...say during a fire. Immediate evacuation from the garden must be assisted in every way possible.
Also, the deterrent to casual housebreakers is important. Sneaky people note that you've lost security lighting at front and back at the same time, and conclude you are ripe for a ransacking.
Lesson learned. Next time (if ever) both lights go within a day or two of each other, I don't scrub the first repair. I just add a second, even if I can't jump the musical queue.
Security-lights become a touch more important, if you are a carer looking after someone with dementia. I just didn't feel like starting this post with that statement.
Stevie Wonder sure can write the hits. Is it, in fact, unfair to criticise...ah, but that's a Jack Black reference too far. My fidelity to the original quote is far from high, as I must end here.
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