Roger Pires July 21, 2011
When he's not offering his take on daily life, Roger Pires spends his days as a computer systems analyst. It's not exactly a glamorous calling but hey, it pays the bills. He enjoys hockey, canoeing, snowshoeing, and spending as much time as he possibly can outdoors. He lives in Udora with his wife and two kids, who are his prime inspiration for Ravenshoe Ramblings.
Previous
Welcome to civilization
I don’t remember much from when I was five. But there are a handful of snippets that have survived the treachery of time virtually unscathed. Like the first fish I caught: a puny, little sunfish that felt like Moby Dick tugging on the line. I recall heaving a baseball at my dad with every uncoiled ounce of strength I had. I don’t think I told him it was coming since my fastball caught him amidships and he collapsed in agony on the front lawn.
And I remember sitting in front of our black and white TV with the bent rabbit ears and watching Neil Armstrong plant his oversized boot on the surface of the moon. “One small step for Man, one giant leap for Mankind.” On our prehistoric Electrolux, the words sounded like they had been delivered via Darth Vader’s breath mask. The message would become immortal.
Man had reached the moon. In no time, we would build condos on the Mare Imbrium and vacation by the Sea of Tranquility. Writers like Asimov and Heinlein – who wrote of cities amongst the stars – would be heralded as the new prophets. But old realities would put the kibosh on this new golden age of exploration. National budgets couldn’t accommodate affordable housing in the Bronx let alone on the moon. Conquering the new frontier would require record doses of international cooperation. The Russians and the Americans couldn’t even agree on how much they hated each other. National budgets and international politics put the “fiction” back in science fiction.
Two generations later, people still aren’t living on the moon, although anyone who’s been to Sudbury would beg to differ. Humanity has, however, achieved in cyberspace where we failed in outer space. High-speed Internet has brought the universe into our homes. We can do our banking while cooking dinner and dial into the office while eating it. This new miracle of human endeavour is accessible to anyone, anywhere. The only exceptions are tiny, little of pockets of isolation called “dead zones”. In these oases of insignificance only dial-up service is available. My house is situated smack dab in the middle of one these outposts: downtown Nowheresville.
When we moved here eight years ago, we asked our service provider when they might bestow upon us the trappings of civilization. They promised that the World Wide Web would be coming to the tundra in the coming months; they were working on it. I thought I detected a snort of laughter on the other end of the line when I told them I was calling from Udora but, at the time, I wrote it off as a bad connection.
It wasn’t the phone line. The following year, we asked them the same question. They informed us that despite living in the land that time forgot, they expected service to be extended “out there” within the year. Dial-up became more useful with each passing year but we got used to the routine: log on; go downstairs to make a sandwich; come back, page not loaded; go back downstairs to watch the first period of the hockey game; come back to load the next page; go to bed and check back in the morning….
Well this year, we finally had enough. We informed our service provider that we here north of the tree line were taking our business elsewhere. One of their competitors (by accident I’m sure) was now able to provide us with (I almost cried when I said it) high-speed Internet! We apprised our overseas customer service representative of this fact and asked her to cancel our service. Very politely, our rep offered to put us through to the “loyalty” department although at first she misspoke and referred to it as the “royalty” department. I was put on hold where I got to listen to several selections from K.C. and the Sunshine band arranged for piano and flute. Before lapsing into a coma, I heard a pleasant, male voice on the other end. I will attempt to summarize the hour-and-a-half debate between yours truly (YT) and the overseas loyalty “advisor” (OLA) into a paragraph or less. I will paraphrase.
OLA: I understand you wish to cancel you Internet service.
YT: That is correct.
OLA: May I ask why?
YT: For eight years I’ve been waiting for your company to provide me with high-speed. I’m still waiting.
OLA: That is distressing indeed. I see you also have satellite television service with us.
YT: Yes, but I’m not calling about…
OLA: I am pleased to inform you that this month we are offering you a discount on your satellite package.
YT: That’s nice but can we get back to the Internet issue?
OLA: Of course. I see by your telephone number you live in... Udora?
YT: That is correct.
OLA: (lengthy pause with audible scratching of head) According to our map, you don’t exist.
YT: According to your customer service, I would agree.
High-speed Internet is now a reality in our house. It’s a thrill to able to read the news while it’s still current. Judging by the first few months however, accurate billing is a work in progress.
