Run, Run, Run

I wish I looked cool when I ran.  You would think because I have long legs I would be an awesome runner, but that’s just not how it goes. I have rusty ball bearings in my kneecaps and hips or something stupid like that. “Squeeek, squeak”, is the sound I imagine my legs would make if I was a cartoon character.  My friend Marcus has well maintained pistons. How he can run so fast when he smokes so much weed is something of a mystery to me.  After I smoke the last thing I want to do is move let alone run ten miles. I want to sit still. I want to sit so still like a chameleon camouflaging into the couch.  I want to watch the people move in crazy directions.  I want to watch the world pass by me like it has forgotten all about me.  I want his legs.

They’re what the girls go crazy for—sexy man legs.  Strong and powerful. Capable of going anywhere with great speed and swiftness.  They go straight ahead with fantastic precision. 

A fish flopped up on land, found a pair of legs lying in the dirt, strapped them to its tail and said to itself, “I think I’ll give this running thing a try”—that’s how I run.

I’m slow too. There’s just no meat on my bones and my older family members like to constantly remind me of this fact.  I have no muscle to move my bones. It’s like trying to move a ladder with toothpicks—it doesn’t work.  It’s more than a little embarrassing when you can’t fill out shorts so small you might as well not be wearing any.

I’m slower than all the cool hippie kids who smoke in the bushes between suicide runs. They are my friends.  Some of them are new friends but Marcus is friends with them all.  I’ve known him since I was two, so I’m in with them.  Me and one of my new hippie friends come up with a nickname for our team of overly ambitious underachievers (aka. the JV team).  We settled on “DRAGON-HAWKS” after throwing out “two-headed dragon bears”.  Marcus is on the varsity team.

Marcus taught me how to physically prepare before a race. Things I never thought were cool to do became cool. 

            “Pasta and butter?”

             “Yeah man, it gives you tons of energy.”

            “What are Nalgene bottles?”

            “They’re made of earth friendly plastic. No one uses those old sport-bike bottles from the 80s.” 

I think they moved on to Siggs? Or maybe they’re back to Nalgenes?  I don’t know. The one thing Marcus didn’t tell me how to do, was how to think just before a race.

I’m a nervous wreck while I wait for the race to start. Unlike Marcus, I really suck at running. I only joined the team because there were no try outs and I needed to sign up for a sport or take PE for another year. I’m in way over my head. At practice I can usually take my sweet time. But I can’t run like I do at practice during a race. I know the hell that I’m about to face. The hills, the heat, the other runners who will pass by like it’s nothing. To distract myself I try to remember a song and amp it up in my head to block out everything else. I’m not sure what Marcus does but I wish he would have told me. 

Wifi Routers

              My parents live in what would be called the sticks by most people. I like almost everything about it, the quietness, the large yard space, and the interesting critters that pass in and out. The only thing I don’t like about it is the limited options for internet and TV. My parents have an AT&T DSL line. The speed is fine for the day to day needs of one person. You can stream and download content at a reasonable speed, but my family has five people. I’m temporarily living at home before moving to South Korea to teach English. My brother and I are gamers and my sister likes to watch her teen dramas but we can’t do both at the same time. Of course both sides refuse to compromise or designate internet time evenly. At twenty four I’m the oldest and should be responsible enough to concede and create a fair time table, but something primal in me awakens when dominating noobs on the latest first person shooter. I become as stubborn as a seven year old. Logically, the only solution then is to get a faster internet connection. Unfortunately my parents live so far out of the city we can only get the government subsidized AT&T service.

               When the AT&T technicians first installed the internet they provided us with a free wireless router. It’s made out of plastic cheaper than a McDonald’s happy meal toy. It’s no wonder the internet service is so terrible and the router stops working after two years.

               There’s a number on the back of the router to call if there is trouble connecting to the internet. Since I’m home all day and work at night I take on the responsibility of calling customer service. For twenty minutes I get the run around from an automated customer service bot before being transferred to a real person. At first I’m relieved until I realize the person is talking with a heavy Indian accent. I feel sorry for these Indian customer services reps. These reps are thrown into the ring with customers who have just been antagonized into a rabid fury by an emotionless robot who finally lets them loose when they’ve got the scent of blood. I have nothing against Indian people and I can’t imagine the saint like patience they must have for dealing with frustrated Americans, but I can’t understand a single word they say over the phone. I’m frustrated and try not to take it out on this stranger. It’s even harder to hold back when I think that AT&T is subsidized by the government but their customer service department has been mostly outsourced to India.

               Eventually I’m told that I qualify for a new router at a discounted price. It arrives two weeks later and it feels even cheaper than the previous one. The whole message seems to convey, “How dare you exploit this loophole!” It also slows down the internet speed significantly compared to the previous router when it was actually working. Again I call customer service to tell them the router is complete crap. Somehow, I’m magically connected to a kindly and sympathetic service rep based in the states who tells me I can return the router for a refund and buy a router from any commercial store as long as it says the router is supported by AT&T.

               I go to the store and browse the routers and I’m immediately attracted to the big boxes advertising lightning speed and support for multiple users. Coincidentally none of these are supported by AT&T. The AT&T routers are on the bottom shelf. I lift one up and to my surprise it feels empty. I shake it lightly to see if there’s anything inside. I hear something rattle like a marble in a shoe box. The clerk standing next to me looks over, plainly irritated, and says, “You break it you buy it.” I have a distinct feeling that I’m not the first person to do this. I put the box back and reach for a router in the far back that hopefully hasn't been shake tested. When I buy the router I look at the clerk defiantly. That’s right I shook that box and I’d do it again.

               I get in my car and look down proudly at my new router and I’m optimistic that I’ll finally have an internet connection with earth shattering speed. When I get home I quickly unpack everything and tear files and paper out of my mother’s work desk so I can thread the Ethernet cables through the holes conveniently located in the most awkward to reach places. Once everything is plugged in I turn on the router. The power light blinks and turns green. The Ethernet cable blinks yellow then turns green. The internet light blinks yellow once then twice, then a few more times before finally blinking red—the universal sign of failure. My brain crashes, then slowly starts to reboot as I struggle to cope with the immense frustration. I am forced to call customer service again and after two hours of testing I’m told the issue is actually with the internet itself, not the router. After I hang up and look around at the giant mess I created while frantically attempting to get the internet to work I sigh to myself, “Well that is supremely disappointing.”