By Jim, Inspired by My Xfinity Tech Buddy Don
My buddy Don’s an Xfinity technician—y’know, the guy who shows up to fix your internet when the Wi-Fi decides it’s on strike. He’s seen it all: chewed cables, routers in microwaves, and once, a guy who swore his cat was “hacking the mainframe.” But last Tuesday? That was the day the universe decided to crank the weirdness to eleven. Here’s how it went down, straight from Don’s exasperated retelling over beers.
Customer #1: The Squirrel Whisperer
Don’s first call was a routine “no signal” gig in a quiet suburb. He pulls up to a house that looks normal—white picket fence, tidy lawn—until he spots a guy in a bathrobe standing on his roof, waving a coaxial cable like a lasso. “Hey, Xfinity man!” the guy bellows. “The squirrels cut me off!”
Don, ever the pro, climbs up with his toolkit, expecting a chewed line. Instead, Bathrobe Bob (as Don dubbed him) launches into a conspiracy: “The squirrels are organized, man! They’ve got a leader—big red one with a scar. I saw him chewing my cable last night, laughing at me!” Donchecks the line—yep, gnawed to bits. Standard squirrel sabotage. But Bob insists on a “counterstrike.” He hands Don a bag of peanuts and says, “Bribe ‘em. They respect diplomacy.”
Don’s like, “Sir, I’m here to fix your TV, not negotiate with rodents.” But Bob’s already tossing peanuts into the trees, yelling, “Take the deal, Scarface!” Don swaps the cable, tests the signal, and books it before Bob recruits him into the Squirrel Resistance. Twist one: as Don’s driving off, he swears he sees a red squirrel in the rearview, clutching a peanut and staring him down.
Customer #2: The Haunted Router
Next stop: an old Victorian house with flickering lights and a lady who answers the door in a velvet cape. “Call me Madame Zora,” she says, voice dripping with mystery. “My internet is possessed.” Don figures it’s a dead router—easy fix. But Zora leads him to a basement straight out of a horror flick: cobwebs, candles, and a router glowing faintly in the corner, surrounded by salt.
“It screams at night,” Zora whispers. “Voices from the ether.” Don’s skeptical but grabs his signal tester. Sure enough, the router’s fried—probably from a power surge. He swaps it out, but Zora grabs his arm. “No! You’ll anger the spirits!” She insists on a “cleansing ritual” first—sage smudging, chanting, the works. Don’s standing there, holding a $200 Xfinity router while Zora waves smoke at it, muttering, “Begone, demons of the dark web!”
Here’s the twist: mid-ritual, the new router powers up and blasts static from its speaker—some glitch in the firmware. Zora shrieks, “It’s alive!” and hurls salt at Don, who’s now coughing through sage smoke and dodging sodium projectiles. He finally gets the Wi-Fi running, but Zora’s convinced he’s an exorcist, not a tech. She tips him a crystal ball and says, “For your next battle.”
Customer #3: The Cable Connoisseur
By now, Don’s wondering if he’s on a hidden camera show. His last call’s a penthouse downtown—swanky place, doorman and all. The customer, a guy in a silk suit named Reginald, greets him with a martini and a complaint: “My picture quality is subpar. I demand perfection.” Don checks the setup—4K TV, top-tier Xfinity package, pristine cables. Looks fine. But Reginald’s got a magnifying glass out, inspecting pixels like he’s Sherlock Holmes.
“It’s the cables,” Reginald declares. “They lack… finesse.” He pulls out a velvet box and reveals his own “artisan coaxial cables”—gold-plated, hand-braided by “a master craftsman in Tuscany.” Don’s like, “Sir, these aren’t compatible,” but Reginald insists. “Install them, or I’ll escalate this to your CEO.” Don humors him, hooks up the fancy cables, and—surprise!—they don’t work. No signal. Reginald’s furious: “You’ve sabotaged my vision!”
Twist time: Reginald calls Xfinity HQ right there, demanding Don’s head on a platter. But the rep on the line recognizes Don’s name (he’s a legend for surviving weirdos) and plays along: “Sir, we’ll send our elite cable sommelier tomorrow.” Reginald buys it, smirking like he’s won. Don escapes, but not before Reginald slips him a $20 bill “for your troubles” and a business card for his “cable appreciation club.”
The Final Twist: Scarface Strikes Back
Don’s done—three calls, three nutjobs. He’s heading home when his van starts rattling. Flat tire. He pulls over, and there, perched on his spare, is a red squirrel with a scarred ear, gnawing a peanut. Don swears it’s Scarface from the first house. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, shooing it off. But as he’s jacking up the van, his phone pings—an Xfinity alert. Emergency call from Bathrobe Bob: “The squirrels are back! Bring more peanuts!”
Don laughs so hard he nearly drops the tire iron. He texts me the saga, and I’m crying over my beer. The next day, he stocks his van with a bag of peanuts—“just in case”—and tells me, “If I don’t make it out, tell my story.” Moral of the day? Xfinity techs don’t just fix wires—they wrangle squirrels, exorcise routers, and dodge artisanal cable snobs. And Scarface? He’s still out there, plotting his next heist.