Remotely Successful

The message delivered dread and foreboding as well as timely news. 

A new cable box is available memo highlighted on the screen appeared in a cheery blue oval mimicking a WELCOMED communique. I clicked on it using my perfectly fine, but outdated remote, to reveal the parameters of this change. I needed to switch out my Xfinity cable boxes by mid-September or suffer dire consequences, like missing the finale of “Righteous Gemstones.”

“Do you want the bad news or the really bad news first?” I asked Mike, my SO (Significant Other).

“I’ll take it in order,” said Mike.

“We need to replace three cable boxes,” I said, “and they need to be replaced by September 18^th.” I emphasized the deadline. 

Mike is a procrastinator whereas I’m am a proactivist. He viewed a deadline as a start time. Whereas I interpreted it as “get it done now.”

“Should I call Jonathan?” I suggested. “He could do it.”

“No, we’ll switch them out ourselves,” Mike responded.

When my outdated remote in the family room refused to do remotely anything, I traded it in for a new one. The replacement mocked me for three weeks shouting out instructions like sync your tv. Figuring out how to instill cooperation among this newcomer and the OTHER remotes (CD, Blue Ray, Stereo) and a Fire Cube boggled my mind. I found Jonathan, a sound specialist looking for a side hustle, on social media who tamed the herd of remotes. Not wanting to contact Jonathan each time I longed to switch from cable to Netflix, I took copious notes and labeled the remotes with their specialties. (I believe I earned anecdote status in his conversations.)

I viewed Mike and me switching out cable boxes like a transplant surgeon switching out hearts. 

“Really?” incredulity crept into my voice. “There’s a deadline.”

The First Step’s The Hardest

The carton of cable boxes arriving shortly after our conversation, upped the deadline. 

Outdated cable boxes must be returned within 30 days or you will be charged an additional monthly fee.

That meant that our current monthly cable charge of a bazillion dollars would be a bazillion and a half dollars for not returning the outdated boxes in time.

The carton held a nest of cords, three sleek remotes, and three cable boxes. Except the boxes weren’t alike and they all looked different from the old ones. I set aside an afternoon to call an Xfinity expert to discuss my quandary.

“Which new boxes should be switched with which old boxes?”

Easy answer: 

“ANY of the new boxes could replace ANY of the old boxes. “

“I currently have four boxes. Which three of the four boxes should be replaced?”

Not so easy answer: 

“The old boxes with these serial numbers need to be replaced. I’ll read them to you.”

Then she proceeded to read three serial numbers comprised of a string of letters and numbers like W3T557LO87459BR-0943K pausing for clarifications like “T as in Tom” and “3 not B.”

Several hours later I delivered the information to Mike with an aside that for $100 an Xfinity technician would install the boxes and program the remotes. 

His eye roll indicated that we’d switch them ourselves. The heart transplants were on.

With the serial numbers list in hand, Mike and I made our way from cable box to cable box identifying which of them needed replacement. After sliding heavy furniture away from the wall to access the boxes, performing contortionist maneuvers to read the back of the boxes, and illuminating the miniscule identification with a combination of mirrors and flashlights, we found a half dozen strings of identifiers on each box, any of which might be the serial number.

Our conversation mirrored my earlier conversation with the Xfinity expert, except with more emotion. (“I said three NOT B.” “Why the f#ck are the letters so small?”) Against all odds Mike and I identified the targeted cable boxes with him neither heaving the outdated remote at me, nor I not strangling him with the extra power cord. 

With sapped stamina we called it a day and restored harmony with vodka and tonics on the back deck.

Criteria And Sequence

Rating the three cable box transplants from easiest to most difficult using criteria as “lightest furniture to move,” “most watched tv” “least extraneous components,” and “longest cords” we ranked the “big screen tv room” as easiest and “fireplace room tv” as most difficult with “upstairs tv” falling in the middle. 

Mike and I disagreed about the last two rankings. I thought the “upstairs tv” most difficult because of the finicky Fire Cube. It wouldn’t accept the command “switch to Netflix.” It recognized “switch to input one” and then only after pondering. Introducing a new cable box would likely throw it into a tizzy. 

Mike thought the “fireplace tv” the orneriest because he didn’t know how to turn the tv on. I, on the other hand, had the “Jonathan Notes.” 

Since holding the flashlight defined my major role in the transplant operations, I conceded.

Three Day Ordeal

Setting up for success, Mike and I paced ourselves. Operation Transplant would be completed over the course of three consecutive days. Then we wouldn’t be overwhelmed, but still make the return deadline. 

Installing the cable box in the “big screen room” was indeed the easiest. Mike merely unplugged the cords and power cable from the back of the old box and plugged them into the new bigger box. He didn’t use the new cords that accompanied the big box.

“Don’t you need to use the new power cord and cables?” I asked. Somehow, I thought that those were updated as well.

Mike rolled his eyes and said, “Hold the flashlight steady.”

Although the cable box transplant transpired without incident, syncing the remote control provided a few harrowing moments.

“Why is the screen still black?”

“What do we call this room? ‘Big screen room’ isn’t a choice.”

“Do we want to power the tv on and off with the new remote or use the Fire Cube?”

“What does HD preferred mean? It sounds like a good thing.”

Throughout the week we progressed from the “big screen room,” “upstairs room,” and “fireplace room” transplanting the cable boxes in each and renaming them with more traditional monikers as “living room,” “family room,” and “main bedroom.”

In the “upstairs room” aka “main bedroom” furniture needed moving, dropped cables needed rethreading, and the finicky Fire Cube needed relocating. 

In the newly christened “family room,” after referring to the “Jonathan Notes,” I turned on the tv to sync the remote. Together Mike and I revised the notes to reflect the update. Now we BOTH knew how to turn on the TV in there, as well as switch between cable and Netflix.

Everyday Epiphany 

On the evening of the third day, I packed the old cable boxes in the return carton while Mike poured us each a glass of Sauv Blanc. I grabbed my Audubon magazine and he found his Jesse Stone paperback novel. We strolled down to the beach to escape technology, enjoy the lakeview, and read.

Maybe four cable boxes were too much of a good thing.

Check out my book, Operation Hopper on Amazon.