I AM the queen in my own mind

While I’m slaving away at the Bank of No Forks, I listen to satellite radio in my office. I love it because I don’t have to listen to stupid DJ’s prattle on or hideous local commercials. The plus, of course, is that there are a million music choices depending on my mood. There is a station completely dedicated to Bruce Springsteen, another for Jimmy Buffett. I can dial in a death metal channel when I’m feeling especially picked upon, or a nice, light jazz station if I’m serene. You can imagine how often I end up listening to Kenny G. If there’s one descriptor people always chose to describe me “serene” would be the one. (I can hear Kurt snorting all the way from Anchorage.)

Anyway, out of the blue today, the radio stopped working in the middle of a song. I was busy at the moment so I gave it a while to relocate the signal or whatever. When the dust and pencil shavings settled down around my desk and the music still wasn’t back, I called tech support. The gentleman who answered was from India. I wasn’t even a little surprised. He called me “dear” throughout our conversation, an odd thing to call a total stranger half a world away, but I didn’t think it was too outer limits.

Yet.

Mr. Tech Support had some difficulty with my situation – another event that I didn’t find too unlikely. My tech issues are never simple, run-of-the-mill problems. He ran through his entire gamut of trouble shooting hints. We checked that it was plugged in. We unplugged and replugged. We tried different channels. We jiggled the wires. He resent the signal no less than five times. I whacked it with my shoe – that was not on the officially sanctioned Trouble Shooting Guide, but sometimes I like to free lance. I often find that if you scare the “inanimate” objects they will behave themselves. You have to show them who’s boss. It almost always works with the copier. It did not work with the radio.

 My intrepid tech guy was just about to utter the words “escalate the ticket” which we all know is code for “I have no freaking idea and no one else will either, just go buy a new radio”, when all of a sudden it started working.

“Hey,” I said, “it’s working again.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s working.” I repeated.

“Really,” he said, his voice full of skepticism. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It must have finally received your signal.”

“But, are you certain its working?” This guy was like a broken record.

“YES.” I used emphasis this time. “There is music coming out of the box, and I can see the display again.”

“I have to be absolutely, 100% certain it’s working. Are you sure it’s working?”

Oh my God. Someone over there needed to flip the card on his trouble shooting handout. Clearly he was in some sort of infinite loop. “Dude, its working.” I leaned in to the amazing, magical music box so he could hear. “Do you hear the music?”

“No, I don’t hear anything. Are you sure the music is coming from the radio and not from somewhere else?”

I pulled my phone away from my face and looked at the receiver quizzically. I turned the volume knob up to 17. “There do you hear it now?”

“Yes, I do. Thank you.” Finally! He started rambling that nonsense they are all trained to say, “Blah, blah, blah, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope, thank you.”

Then he ended the call with a final line I have been pondering all morning.

“You’re very welcome, Your Majesty.”