Technoghost

Last week, I lost audio on one station of my bedroom TV. I tried the other channels and they had sound.

Continuing an orderly diagnostic, I tested the other TVs in the house. No problems. Okay, then it’s a defect on one channel of one TV.

But wait. I’m clicking through and there’s sound on that channel. So, whatever crashed, fixed itself. Then, the sound goes off. WTF?

Fortunately, I noticed that the sound ceased at a commercial break. I kept watching. It came back on right at the start of another commercial. I logged occurrences. There was sound for some shows and some commercials, but not others. WTF?

Analyze the data. The stuff with sound originated at the network. The muted reception was local. I have somewhere to go and will puzzle this out later.

I get home and turn on the TV to catch the end of the Superbowl, which is on the station in question. The voiceover is in Spanish. WTF? I will repeat that. WTF?

I go into another room and turn on the TV. English. Okay, I think I know. Before I mess with it, I want to check my email, because I was expecting something that might necessitate a call before it got too late. I forgot that I had emailed the station with my problem. Someone had responded, confirming my diagnosis. The SAP setting had been changed.

I don’t watch much TV and wouldn’t know where to find the settings without the manual. I looked at my cat. He watches a lot of TV.

A day later, I get up early to check the web boards I moderate before heading off to work. The computer is on, which is odd. I usually turn it off at night. Not unusual for me to forget something anymore. No biggie.

Except, there’s no connectivity with the web. The page that comes up gives me the option of troubleshooting the problem. Sure. It comes up the problem is no connectivity. No kidding? It does suggest contacting my IP. That’ll have to wait until I get back home.

It’s eating at me all day, so I bug out a little early. I call the IP help line, expecting to be put on hold for endless empty apologies, cross-selling pitches, or elevator music arrangements of “Muskrat Love.” Pleasant surprise. The automated program informs me that they are tied up with other clients, but I don’t have to stay on the line. I can provide my phone number and they’ll call me within twenty minutes. Great, even though I expect this to be the equivalent of a twenty-minute wait estimate at a restaurant reservation desk.

But, I do get a call within the proscribed time. Now, to bridge the communication gap between technoweenie and the missing link. It helps that he can see things about the connection from his end.

He runs me through some standard quick cures, like rebooting the modem. No dice. He does learn not to assume that he can just tell me to call something up or perform a task, without telling me how. In English. With small words. See Jane run. Click the icon that looks like a ducky without a head.

He takes me deep into the bowels of my computer. I feel like a bit player in “Journey to the Center of the Earth.” We travel though many foreign lands, keystroking arcane languages. No luck. He brings in his supervisor.

The supervisor runs me through much the same gauntlet. Then, we probe deeper. Nothing works. He comes up with another idea and is navigating me through it. Fortunately, I’m astute enough to be providing feedback along the way, even though it isn’t requested. Something I report from the screen pulls him up short and we go back a step.

He asks me to read it off to him again. Then, he has me reset two things. It works!

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome sir. Just stay out of the advanced settings.”

“Pardon me?”

“Don’t mess with the advanced settings anymore. That’s what messed it up.”

“I didn’t do anything. I was sleeping when it disconnected.” Even awake, I wouldn’t even know where to find them, much less mess with them.

“Well, someone did.”

“I get these downloads of program updates. Could that have changed them?”

“No sir, someone changed them.”

Cue the theremin music. Weird.

A vast right wing conspiracy to mess with my TV and computer? No, I’m not bonkers. It’s the ghost of Amesbury Drive. Since I’ve admitted some superstition in the previous entry, might as well out myself about Amy.