Last fall, the TV in the playroom / family room / land of misfit and every other kind of toy for that matter turned itself off and wouldn’t come back on. I took the behemoth, which has to weigh well over a hundred pounds, to a repair shop, handed over my credit card, and begged for kindness. $200 later and another trip to pick up the monster (and bring it back inside the house), and we were operational again.
Early this new year, I was winding down in my bedroom watching something that didn’t require too much concentration when I heard the television burp (seriously, that’s exactly what it sounded like) and the screen went black. My parents, bless them, donated a spare set to soothe my rapidly frazzling nerves. I suspect that this was both a generous offer to help a daughter in the verge of a breakdown as well as an opportunity to remove something taking up space (Dad just bought a new LCD not too long ago). Thank you, Mom and Dad. However, I am not a purger, certainly not of useful things. So in my bedroom right now is a working television and what currently amounts to a 27-inch boat anchor. It remains, holding down the floor, for the small possibility that it would be cheaper to repair than buy a new one if the need arises. (In my defense, the first TV repair serves as a good case for repair costing less. Beside, I won that TV in a contest in college. I love that TV.)
Last night, my beautiful, high definition DLP TV started whining. Yes, whining. It made a long, low pitched buzz and the picture snapped off. Three tiny lights on the front are blinking at me tauntingly. The manual tells me that this probably means the lamp has died. I knew when I agreed to buy the thing (it’s a cliché that men buy the big TVs for a reason) (but I love it) (don’t tell my husband) (he probably knows) that lamps are basically wear parts on a DLP television. I just didn’t expect it to go exactly 2 years to the day we plugged it in.
My house has a TV curse. I need an exorcist. In the form of a repair guy. Today.
Luckily, we (I) had the forethought to buy an extended warranty on the sucker (OK, forethought induced by my father, so thanks for that, Dad). Replacement and repair shouldn’t cost a cent. But it has already cost an hour and a half (that’s 90 minutes of prime time, people) of being on hold until Mark told me he’d have to get back to me. I’d like to strangle Mark. I need that TV, Mark. I need it to do my workouts, I need it to see who gets Philiminated this week, and I need it for my sanity, Mark. You better call back.