DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

Persistent beeping from the front of the house roused me from the deep concentration that marks my typical work days. (No, really.) We don’t get many callers out here, so I had to investigate. I found a cherry-picker parked in my driveway, and an anonymous hardhat peering up at a utility pole.

The hardhat guy thought I intended to ask how long he’d be blocking my driveway. I imagine that’s the sort of inquiry he gets all the time: “do whatever you want, but don’t get in my way.” He couldn’t predict that I have concerns of a different sort — I rarely go anywhere, but I have extreme reservations about unannounced meddling on my property.

He said he would be upgrading the cable hardware. “We’re not customers,” I pointed out. “There’s no need to upgrade the hardware.” He said, “this is the end of the line,” which seemed to prove my point more than his: if this is the end of the line, and I’m not using it, why upgrade the hardware?

I asked him for ID. “I don’t have it with me,” he said, providing an early contender for a mental competition I judge called “the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day.” I told him, “I’m afraid I can’t let you go up the pole then.” He called his supervisor, who showed up with no ID, no papers, and no uniform. He did have a sidekick, who was fashionably dressed in a track suit.

His explanation: “We’re making new IDs, but they haven’t been sent out yet.” I can invent better lies than that with one brain hemisphere tied behind my back. I asked whether they had any papers authorizing the work, hoping to find some official work orders from Comcast, the alleged employer. The supervisor said that all such papers are kept at headquarters. Sigh.

Then he pointed to the magnetic “Comcast” label on the door of their rented Penske truck, as if that should authorize them. I said, “I can buy a sticker like that for five dollars.” In truth I could probably print one on my inkjet for less. “OK, so you have no ID and no papers, no proof at all. Why should I believe you’re from Comcast?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t Comcast provide uniforms?” Even the guys who spray for bugs have corporate logos on their shirts.

He said, “my orange vest is my uniform,” which made me wonder, what about the guy in the track suit? He offered to show me drivers’ licenses as IDs. I agreed. I fetched my digital camera.

I was pretty bothered by the whole episode. They’d interrupted my morning, annoyed me with their inability to satisfy a fairly basic security inquiry, triggered my paranoia by promising to interfere with data cables, and beyond that they were doing something I didn’t need or want done. Add to that the close proximity of their cable to my ISDN line; there was, as far as I was concerned, some risk that through carelessness they could knock me offline.

One of the crew managed to produce an ID — a generic vinyl-covered hanging badge with a photo and name. I snapped a picture of it. My camera took about 10 seconds to make the exposure. That’s a clear indication that something is wrong, but under the pressure of the moment (I was facing down four irritated-looking linemen with leather gloves and helmets at this point), I ignored it. I shot a picture of the guy’s driver’s license next. It took another 10 seconds. Stubborn to the last, I shook off my doubts, ignoring the accumulating evidence that I’d overlooked something (e.g. “why can’t I see anything in the camera’s LCD besides a reflection of my nose?”) The crew then dispersed, and the supe offered his driver’s license. “Sure,” I said, “I’ll have the whole collection.” And then it hit me… my lens cap was still on.

This may be why I never went to law school. I’ve mastered the part about righteous indignation, but I missed out on some of life’s lessons about basic preparation for a fight.

But I rallied. I salvaged what was left of my indignation and snapped a picture (with actual light coming into the camera lens) of the supervisor’s license, and another of the truck’s license plate.

Comcast has an opportunity to improve its public relations here. Their website shows no obvious telephone numbers, and the “contact us” area seems to dead-end in a feedback form. I resorted to directory assistance and found the corporate telephone number.

After about three levels of voice-mail navigation I found an option to list the maintenance crews in my area. Ten minutes later, I hung up; the voice was reciting the name of every street in every town within 25 miles.

Comcast needs to furnish IDs and business cards to their linemen. Sure, such credentials can be faked, but that’s a lousy argument for not bothering to make them.

So anyway there’s a decent chance that my unrest is being closely monitored, keystroke by keystroke, by a team of Ashcroft’s minions. See, an hour after the cable crew left, a second unit showed up. This team had company uniforms and trucks that weren’t rented. And they didn’t know who the first crew was. What are the chances that two separate crews from one cable company need to work on the same pole on the same day?