I know it's the 24th and not the 18th like I said.
It's the cable guy's fault.
He was supposed to call first, so Alan could get his butt over to the new, temporary digs and let him in to install the cable hook-up that would allow us to access the sweet, sweet internet.
But he didn't call, did he? NO. He just SHOWED UP.
Our very helpful next-door neighbour offered to let him in. But the cable guy was too quick for that one. "You own the place?" he muttered.
"No, but my son does."
And away goes the cable guy and we have to reschedule.
A WEEK later, he showed up again. I took the entire day off work and spent the morning glued to the porch.
"Do I get my internet today?" I asked him.
"Prrrrrrrrrrrobably not," he said, while chomping on a large wad of pink gum. Oh, yes. I saw it. And most of his molars.
"See, you need written permission FROM THE OWNER to install cable. I can leave you with the permission slip. But yer gonna hafta reschedule."
We switched providers after that. And it only took till late last night to get a connection.
Remember when they said computers would make life easy?