How May I Help You?

"The screen is black. What do I do? What has your father done now! Call me."

"The screen is fuzzy. I tried turning the tv on and off. Same with the digital box. Nothing. Call me when you get this message."

"My answering machine isn't working. Misty has chewed through the wires again. I swear, I am opening the side door, and she can leave, and I don't care anymore. Bye"

"The hot water tank is leaking. There's also grey dust all over the top of the tank. Should I worry? Call me."

"The air conditioning isn't working. What's wrong with it?"

"I can't turn the channels on the tv. What button am I supposed to press? Call me when you get home."

"Carol, where are you? I asked you to call me."

"I can't open my emails. I can't pay my bills on-line. I have deadlines. Its Mom. Call me."

I have programmed a specific ring tone on my land line for calls that come from my parents' home. When I'm home and the phone rings, I wait for that familiar tone to set in, and generally try and pick it up at around the third ring. By then, I have quickly reviewed in my mind, the various manuals I have had to memorize on all things electronic in my parent's home, visualized their three remote controls, and had a quick moment to take in a last breath.

While I lived with them, as they cared for me during my back woes, my parents 20+ year-old CRT Sears brand TV broke down. Flat screen, I immediately thought. Yes, they agreed, especially since the tv was such a huge part of my Dad's day, and a way for Mom to keep Dad distracted (perhaps while the caregiver snoozed, read or was last seen riding a bus - see previous post).

Digital box, I thought again. And not just any digital box, but a HD PVR box. To top if off, my mother wanted Bell, the company that forgot customer service. Then moved it to India.

I rue the day that the satellite and PVR digital box were installed. Make it the two weeks it took for Bell to install that equipment properly, and even then, I had to use my technical chops to get it functioning properly. Something the customer service rep from India was unable to do. "Shovel the snow off your rooftop", he advised. "That should get your tv a clear signal." Yes, of course, that must be it. Climb up two stories to remove the snow off the satellite. In the middle of winter, with limited mobility that just barely got me to the washroom most days. It dawned on me that fateful winter day in 2007 that this was the inaugural beginning of my new role as Technical Help for Mom and Pop Kalaydjian.

While I was a floor away from the Electronics Hell locale, communication around technical glitches often involved yelling from one floor to the rest. Sometimes it involved climbing a few stairs to the family room, playing around with a remote or two, checking out a furnace or heater, keeping my mother from throwing the "I'll-chew-any-device-or-wire-you-leave-out. I-love-the-buzz" cat, or simply encouraging my mother on as she hot wired yet another wire, cable or device Misty had branded.

Some days it meant calling in repairmen, or choosing new water heaters or air conditioners. Or waiting through another call to Bell. That is a whole other topic for another day. Children have been conceived, born and raised while Bell works on a technical issue. Their bills reflect that.

Now that I'm back to my own home, managing my own technical issues, mostly an old laptop that my brother has to service once in a while, the original Electronics Hell locale remains. While we joke about men and their remotes, I can tell you that even when they're ill, that need to be physically connected to a remote never changes. Hand gripping remote at all times, even whilst asleep. Just try and take it away!

And with that, a button accidentally hit, fingers ravaged by Parkinson's drumming on the surface of the remote, jumping from one missed key to another, feverishly trying to get the screen to comply. TSN, no CNN, no Sportsnet, no CBC Newsworld (or whatever they're calling themselves now, with the flashy new set). No picture, no sound. No go.

My phone rings. Their tune kicks in. We're at the starting gate. "Hi Mom. What's up?".

And the gun goes off.