Last night I was loafing on my couch when my doorbell went dingy-dong. Grumbling to myself because I had already reverted to underwear mode, I groped about on the floor until I found a pair of pants to pull on. Yanking open the door I found some cheerful Spanish guy decked out in a t-shirt that said ’Brighthouse sales roundup’.
I have el-cheapo cable. It is all I need. I do not even pay the extra seven bucks for digital cable. I really do not need the animal planet in espanol. I just plug it into my cable-ready TV and I am set.
Well, the guy at the door tried to tell me that within the next year I would not be able to see basic cable on my television unless I got digital cable. This sounded suspicious to me, because I had no notification from brighthouse or seen anything in the news. Just some joker at my door who punctuated everything he said with ’yuh know whut I mean?’. He then told me that I could get the new improved box right now if I signed up with him. I asked if he actually had the box on him. He said yes. So I said sure.
So he started asking me some info, and then asked me what hours I worked. I asked why, and he said it was so brighthouse could send someone out to hook up a box. I told him that he had just told me he had a box. He said he meant he had access to a box. I told him forget it. I do not need to be sitting around for some brighthouse truck to hook me up for whatever services this guy felt like billing me for. I am that much of a grumpy bastard. If I ever do need to upgrade I can just swing by the brighthouse office on the way home from work. I can even plug it in myself. Imagine that.
I went back inside and yanked my pants back off. The man is always trying to find a new way to nickel and dime me.
2026 Update
Dialing back to March 2008, where Ed's doorbell is the enemy and his pants are negotiable.
Eighteen years later, Ed, your 'cable-ready TV' is a museum piece, and the door-to-door Brighthouse grifter has evolved into an army of robocalls, streaming bundles, and a 'smart TV' that demands a login before it will even show you the weather. You grumbled about $7 for digital cable; now we pay for nine subscriptions, each with its own app, password, and 'premium tier,' and still can't watch the game without a blackout. Your solution was to swing by the Brighthouse office and plug it in yourself—today, the equivalent is digging an Ethernet cable through the walls while a support chatbot tells you to restart your router. The man no longer needs to ring the bell and ask about your hours; he already knows your hours, your viewing habits, and whether you reverted to underwear mode, because your TV is listening. You were right not to trust the box-access schemer, but the whole system got sneakier. At least you can still yank your pants off in peace—though now the TV might comment on it.
“2008 Ed, did you ever actually check whether Brighthouse was telling the truth, or did you just assert 'the man is always trying to nickel and dime me' and pull your pants back off? And when the digital transition finally hit your cable-ready TV, did you admit the doorbell joker had a point, or did you find a way to blame him twice?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2008 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, you want to know if I checked into Brighthouse's big threat? Ha. Ha ha. No. I pulled my pants back off and cracked open a beer, because that's how I handle all major policy decisions. The guy had no box, he had 'access to a box,' which is sales-speak for 'I'm going to bill you for a box I'm not holding.' I figured if the world was really going to end my basic cable, there'd be a letter, or at least a commercial with a catchy jingle. So no, no checking. As for when the digital transition finally hits my cable-ready TV, I'll probably blame him twice. I'll say, 'That doorbell joker was so annoying he broke it,' and also, 'He knew it was coming and didn't warn me properly.' The man is always trying to nickel and dime me, even when he's accidentally right.
