Life in a Dallas suburb

Over the weekend, our satellite receiver went kaput, so for a meer $25 we had the HD satellite put in. I can’t even begin to describe the chaos that was my house during the four hours that the installer was here, but it got done.  On  his way out the door, the installer tells me he put a signal amplifier in my bedroom and that I shouldn’t unplug it or all three tvs won’t work.  Fine.  It’s behind a largish piece of furniture, so the chances of someone messing with it is slim to none.  That was last Monday. 

Fast forward to Thursday night.  Doug finally gets a chance to sit down in the den and watch some tv.  Lo and behold, our satellite can’t pick up a signal.  Argh!  He calls the satellite company who tells him to call the installer to get him to come out and fix it.  So Doug trying to get in touch with the installer while I’m ranting about why can’t  the satellite company call the installer and get it fixed and customer service these days is so lame and something about their butt and a hole in the ground and on and on.  Doug is worn out trying to juggle all this and I can see it on his face.  I’m feeling really bad for him (but not bad enough to stop ranting) and suddenly I have an inspiration.  I run to the doorway to our bedroom (G-rated here, I promise) and in my best Ellen Griswold voice, whine “Clark!” and flip a light switch.  All of a sudden the satellite receiver starts working in the den!  No Hallelujah chorus, but Doug is dumbfounded.  It is a pure Griswold moment.

As it turns out, the satellite installer plugged the signal amplifier (that thing I wasn’t supposed to unplug)into one of the two plugs controlled by the light switch on the wall.  The light switch was off, so no juice, no satellite signal.  There are so many things about Christmas Vacation that we identify with, we’ll just add this one to the list.

Russ, we checked all the lights, didn’t we?