Tuesday, April 1, 2025 - Day 231

Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Good morning, another Tuesday of taxes.

April Fools’ and the Comcast Circus

April Fools’ Day is here, and while the temptation to pull a tax-themed prank on the seniors is strong, I decide against it. Humor is good, but scaring people about the IRS feels like a bad idea. I’ll have to come up with something a little lighter.

Over the weekend, a neighbor stumbled upon a hidden Comcast utility box in our HOA common area. Well, “stumbled upon” is generous—this thing was practically a booby trap. The box was sunk into the ground, uncovered, and deep enough that a small child (or an unlucky adult) could fall right in. Given that our local kids are particularly fond of ding-dong-ditch, I could already picture them diving in for cover after a well-timed doorbell ring. It was an accident waiting to happen.

So, first thing Monday morning, I take it upon myself to report the hazard. I look up a Comcast number specifically for safety issues, compare it to their general customer service line. Same number and immediately realize I’m in for a battle.

The first call goes as expected: automated prompts, endless menus, and an AI system determined to keep me from reaching a human being. I press buttons, I shout “operator,” I try reasoning with the robot—nothing works. Eventually, the system, clearly tired of me, simply says “Goodbye” and hangs up. I’ve been rejected by Comcast AI.

Undeterred, I call back, but this time, I get smart. I tell the system I want to cancel my service. Magic words. Suddenly, I’m connected to a real person in under 20 seconds. Noted for future use.

The agent is polite and actually listens, which is refreshing. I hate the customer service call where the agents have to follow a script…those never go well. THe agent takes down the details, creates a ticket, and tells me they’ll address the issue within a week. Perfect. I go about my day feeling accomplished.

Then, an hour later, I get an email from Comcast: Issue resolved.

Really? Fixed in an hour? My gut tells me otherwise. So, I grab my hiking poles and head up the small hill to check. Sure enough—nothing has been done. Same open box, same hazard. I mutter a few choice words about Comcast, turn to leave, and then—boom—my left leg gives out. Down I go. Fall number six.

I try using my poles to push myself up. No luck. I get a quarter of the way up before—down again. Luckily, there’s a fence nearby so I crawl over and manage to grab hold and pull myself up using both the fence and my poles. I restart my escape from the grass and by the time I reach solid ground, my mind is no longer on Comcast. Instead, I’m debating whether or not I have to report this fall. Technically, I got up on my own. No harm, no foul, right?

Back inside, I figure I’ll just move on with my day—until Cindy calls down from upstairs, checking in. I consider a strategic omission but realize there’s no point, she’ll come down and see the grass stains on the pants. No hiding that. I tell her what happened, and as expected, she’s not happy. She doesn’t even need to ask why I didn’t call her for help—she already knows. More than anything, she’s frustrated for me, and she reminds me that we have to document the fall. Yep, no getting out of that one.

So, I sit by the fireplace, legs tired, mind drifting to golf. Swinging a golf club with my balance issues is going to be a challenge, but I’ll have to figure it out. Looking at the forecast, golf in the next two weeks isn’t promising, so as soon as there is a day that can work, we need to get out, sooner rather than later. Preferably with a group, so Tim doesn’t have to pick me up multiple times, by himself.

The rest of the day? I played it safe. Translation: I didn’t do much, except get a haircut. A low-risk activity, all things considered.

Cindy let my adventure go and focused her attention on making bracelets for “Andys Army. If anybody would like one it’s a small donation, going to ALS United. Reach out to Cindy for details.

Have a great Tuesday.

Love you guys! ❤️