I finally had enough. I called and got passed around until I was disconnected. I got on their live chat and hurt the feelings of a robot. I emailed, and got no reply. Finally, I posted on their Facebook wall. They deleted my post in three minutes time. So I posted again, something to the effect of “Fine, you can delete my complaint, but wouldn’t it be fucking frustrating if, before deleting, you had to download a toolbar?” They deleted that too. For the next fifteen minutes, I would simply post “TOOLBAR.” And every post would be deleted, and I’d replace them immediately. Finally, I felt satisfied. I went outside to check the mail, only to see a Comcast/Xfinity van parked in front of my house. A little confused, I went back inside to lay low. Once the coast was clear, I set off for the mailbox again. Halfway there, a moving van backed out of the parking lot, and behind it: the Comcast van. I played it cool, walked the rest of the way to the mailbox. I fumbled with my key, pulled out the bills and catalogs and walked flat-out back to my place, checking over my shoulder every few feet. Once inside, I yelled “TOOLBAR!” before slamming and deadbolting my door.

I finally had enough. I called and got passed around until I was disconnected. I got on their live chat and hurt the feelings of a robot. I emailed, and got no reply. Finally, I posted on their Facebook wall.

They deleted my post in three minutes time. So I posted again, something to the effect of “Fine, you can delete my complaint, but wouldn’t it be fucking frustrating if, before deleting, you had to download a toolbar?” They deleted that too.

For the next fifteen minutes, I would simply post “TOOLBAR.” And every post would be deleted, and I’d replace them immediately. Finally, I felt satisfied.

I went outside to check the mail, only to see a Comcast/Xfinity van parked in front of my house. A little confused, I went back inside to lay low. Once the coast was clear, I set off for the mailbox again. Halfway there, a moving van backed out of the parking lot, and behind it: the Comcast van. I played it cool, walked the rest of the way to the mailbox. I fumbled with my key, pulled out the bills and catalogs and walked flat-out back to my place, checking over my shoulder every few feet.

Once inside, I yelled “TOOLBAR!” before slamming and deadbolting my door.

Notes