OK, here's the story

I'm not going on a rant against Direct TV.  
I'm a little aggravated at the kid who installed it, though.  
The guy's name is Chase.  He set everything up (except for my DVD player, which perhaps my grandson can fix because right now it doesn't work) and asked me please, please, PLEASE if I had any problems in the next ninety days not to call Direct TV, but to call him directly; he wrote his number down for me.  
I have a grandson about the age of Chase, and because I know how hard it can be for a young man to make a living these days, I vowed to do just that; of course, I didn't think there would be a problem.  
Four days ago my TV started acting strange.  I'd push a button for a different channel and there was about a ten-second lapse before the channel would change.  Other peculiar things started happening.  
Then yesterday morning I got the dreaded "searching for signal" message on my television.  
I called Chase, who said he'd try to work me in today.  
I didn't hear from him today, so this evening I called him again.  
"I couldn't get out that way," he said.  
I described what was happening.  "I think it's the receiver," I told him.  
He agreed; it sounded like the receiver.  
Well heck, if I'd known that I would have called Direct TV when the trouble started; they would have had a new receiver on its way already.  Chase said he'd talk to his boss and see if he could get routed out this way.  
I was getting pretty tired of watching my favorite TV shows on the computer.  My daughter's girls are going to be spending the night here Saturday, and I really don't want to be without television then.  
Suddenly it hit me, like a bolt out of the blue:  My son in Georgia has worked with Direct TV for years!  In fact, he's become quite the big shot with Direct TV, not that I'd want to brag.  He's been in Jimmy Carter's home, even! 
Why on earth had I not called him about this problem (not Jimmy Carter... my son, Jim)?  
No, it shouldn't have been necessary to call him, but there you go.  
He asked if I had reset the receiver.  I asked, "How do I do that?"  
He told me.  
Within fifteen minutes, I had the magic of television in my living room.  
And trust me, the next time there's a problem, I won't call Chase. I won't call my son (unless it's an emergency).  
I'll call Direct TV, and let the chips fall where they may.  
Sorry, Chase.  
Jim explained to me that Chase wanted me to call him personally because he gets charged for a return visit. 
Oh well.  

Television woes, a learning experience

We recently switched from Dish to Direct TV.  I was loving the change until a couple of days ago, when recorded programs would freeze up and it took ten seconds to switch channels after I pushed the button.  Hmmm.  Then the receiver reset itself, and I called the guy who installed this stuff.  
See, he asked me to call him, rather than Direct TV, if a problem arose, because he didn't want them on his back.  
I told him if this resetting thing was an isolated problem, no biggie.  But this is what my Dish receiver was doing for the last year, and I had hoped to see the end of it with Direct TV.  
This morning, the only thing that showed on my television screen was "searching for signal".  I called my installer again, and he's supposed to come tomorrow and check things out.  
I missed "Raising Hope" and "Lie to Me", so I made myself comfortable in Cliff's easy chair, opened up his laptop, and went to Hulu.com to catch up on what I had missed.  
That's when I noticed that there's an option for captions on the full-length episodes online.  That's great!  Now when Cliff misses a show, he can enjoy it on his computer.    
This whole business of Cliff having a computer is still very strange to me.  He used to walk past my computer shaking his head, saying, "I don't know how you can spend so much time on that thing."  
Now he's on the Internet several times a day, checking out Craigslist and watching videos of tractors doing what tractors do and reading his email.  I can always tell when he's reading his email because I hear him laughing out loud.  He loves the jokes, jokes I've seen multiple times over the years, but they're all new to him.   
And I can't help but recall how, back in 1998 when I'd be chatting in the chat room with my friends ("tatting in the tat-room", as my little granddaughter Monica put it), the conversations would be so hilarious I'd laugh out loud.  Cliff would say, from the other room, "Sometimes I worry about you."  
And now the shoe is on the other foot.