Fear-mongering at its finest.

SMF and I moved into the new grown-up pad on Sunday, and I took Monday off to unpack. Of course, I also needed a full day to wait for Comcast to show up whenever the hell they felt like it.

I trusted Comcast guy immediately, as he showed up a) in a Cincinnati Reds hat; b) early. It's hard to say when, exactly, the second Comcast guy showed up at the door to assure me there was still stuff I could buy, but it was just enough time for me to refuse him without realizing the cable is busted (currently stuck on the CW, so I least I caught this week's Gossip Girl).

So, CG2 was all like, "O hai, it looks like you just moved in," and I was all like, "Hey, stop creeping and peeping, plz." And CG2 wanted to sell me some superfluous phone service. I said I didn't need that because it's 2009. CG2 said I did, in fact, need that, I just didn't know it -- because if none of the multiple cell phones in the house work, I could still call 911.

Because I've seen horror films before, I told him that I was familiar with how these things work; if the cell phones aren't working, then neither is the land line. CG2 told me all I had to do was just knock the phone over while running from the bogeyman, and it would automatically dial 911.

Toto: we're not in Baltimore anymore.

I found this argument pretty laughable until I came home to an empty house today, with little furniture to absorb the echoes, because SMF is in another state for work.

Well done, Comcast. This has probably sold some superfluous phone service for you. But I'm still not buying a land line from you because, based on your prior customer "service" record, I have to assume the phone would only dial one number, unless I knock it over while bleeding to death.