(Subtitle: "Why I love Spouse. Like, really, REALLY, love Spouse.")
Direct TV receiver in our bedroom generated the equivalent of the "blue screen of death" this morning. After the system attempted to reboot, unsuccessfully, six times, Spouse dialed Direct TV and was connected to Siri's Evil Twin. Over my backseat-driver protests, Spouse initially chose "I can't see a picture" from the menu of prompts, at which point Siri's Evil Twin (we'll call her Eve) helpfully pointed out that oftentimes when you can't see a picture it's because of a problem with your set. Like, it might not be turned on.
Spouse started to lose his temper. Quite understandably. (My "I TOLD you that was the wrong prompt to go with" probably didn't help the situation much.)
We started over. I'll skip the stuff in the middle and get to the good part:
Eve: Can you tell me what you would like to get out of this call?
Spouse: Contact with a live human being would be nice.
Eve: I'm sorry. I didn't get that.
[Snorting from Spouse and me.]
Eve [trying again]: Can you tell me what you would like to get out of this call?
Spouse: A back massage and a baloney sandwich.
[More snorting from me.]
Eve: Okay. I got that. You want tech support.
Me: Is THAT what they are calling it these days?
[Sound of Spouse rolling off of his side of the bed while I bury my head under a pillow.]
Who says customer service is dead?