I’m mad and I’m not going to take it anymore. My satellite TV provider, who I’ll leave nameless, has temporarily pulled the stations that show my hockey and basketball teams’ games.
I pay good money for the right to suffer, raise my blood pressure, and watch the NY Knicks lose. Subsequently, about a week ago, I called to let them have it.
“So you’re saying you’ll give me a $5 credit each month those channels are off the air and maybe a couple of free movies…I’ll take it but don’t have me call back in a month.”
I showed them who’s boss. I still can’t watch my teams’ games and my wife just got a $5 latte at Starbucks. To further add to my misery, I flipped to the channel that used to show the Knicks’ games only to find the president of the satellite company reiterating I won’t be getting my channels back anytime soon.
But not only am I mad, my wife is, too. Instead of watching her TV shows (Hoarders, The Duggars – 19 Kids and Counting, Prison Wives, Mystery Diagnosis, etc) in peace she’s stuck watching TV with me.
When I start to annoy her, she has a subtle way of getting rid of me—bed bugs.
“Bed bugs are everywhere. They’re in hotels, stores, movie theaters, restaurants…”
She knows this bedbug paranoia annoys me to no end and continues her tirade. “Banks, casinos, laundromats….”
God forbid I have an itch she never lets me hear the end of it.
“It’s bed bugs. Maybe you should go take a shower or make an appointment to see the doctor. This house better not be infested with bed bugs.
“I think bed bugs are in your brain.”
Intended or not, mission accomplished. After that wisecrack, I ease my way into the other end of the house where I can only bother my son. However, he’s so immersed in playing with his wrestling figures he doesn’t even notice I’m there.
When Sunday arrives, CJ is playing with his wrestling figures yet again while I nervously await the start of the Jets’ game. Since I can’t watch any basketball or hockey games during the week, all my pent up anxiety is squarely focused on the Jets.
“CJ, do you want to watch the Jets with me?”
I don’t think he has a clue what I just asked him.
“CJ, want to go school today?”
He started to say yes then looked at me strangely. “I don’t want to go to school, Dad.”
“Just kidding. There’s no school today.”
“I’m just trying to get your attention. Watch the game with me.”
For a few minutes, he obliged. However, much to my wife’s dismay, even if his wrestling figures were covered in bed bugs, he wouldn’t stop playing.
Once the game starts and the Jets struggle, I’m visibly worried the Jets might lose. A few minutes later, my nervousness turns into anger.
“I can’t believe the #^@*!in Jets are going to lose this game.”
“It’s only a game, Dad. Why are you getting so mad?”
He makes perfect sense. “You’re right, buddy.”
“What does #^@*! mean?”
“It means I’m turning into my Dad.”
I avoided all curse words for awhile until the Jets got me mad again.
I couldn’t believe I lost my cool again.
“It’s only a game, Dad,” my son said sternly.
Who’s the parent here?
But he was right. It’s just a game. Besides it could be worse. The Jets could be so bad that they’re unwatchable. I’d then be stuck watching a marathon of my wife’s favorite new show, “When Bed Bugs Attack.”
Copyright © 2010, Brad Manzo