(
Editor's note:
This is the last of a series of occasional reports on buying, building and moving into a new home in Las Vegas.)
SETTING: MORNING AFTER the move. Center stage, foreground; frustrated man, swamped by boxes, on a cell phone. Center stage, background: bored Sprint operator wearing a headset.
Pissed, Unmedicated, Tired Zombie (hereinafter, "P.U.T.Z."): "Tell me you're kidding. ... Please ... Please. ..."
Sprint Customer Relief Express (With Exceptions) Department: (hereinafter, "S.C.R.E.W.E.D."): "I'm afraid not, sir."
Putz: "You said you'd transfer service the day I moved, but there's no service, and this area has a lousy cell-phone signal. I feel like Gilligan shouting into a coconut-turned-transmitter made by the Professor after a mescal binge."
Screwed: "Your transfer is on hold."
Putz: "But I can't even get online. I'm missing my male-enhancement spam mail."
Screwed: "You're in a new neighborhood, and your developer hasn't finished what they're supposed to do with the lines before we can inspect them, sir."
Developer (bolting onstage, furious): "We did, too! We did everything we were supposed to and they keep stalling!"
Putz: "They say they actually did ..."
Screwed: "THEY DID NOT!"
Putz: "Yeah, but ..."
Developer: "DID TOO!"
Screwed: "Our computer records say DID NOT!"
Developer: "Our computer records say, DID-TOO-TOO-TOO-TOO- TOO!"
Putz: "SHADDUP! ... Look, are you sure Sprint's records are up to ..."
Screwed: "I can only go by our files, which have your service set for ... three and a half weeks, on February 27th."
Putz: "February WHAT?"
Screwed: "Febru ..." bzzt ... bzzzzzt ...
Putz: "Hello? Hello? HELLO?"
Screwed:
Putz: "HELLO? HELLO? OH, HELL!"
Screwed:
Putz (to himself): "Three and a half weeks? The lines at the DMV move faster than that."
Fadeout. Lights up, stage left.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Whoever I: "Welcome to the neighborhood, which I'm sure would be greatly enhanced by our gorgeous blinds and window treatments! We can offer you style and privacy at unheard-of prices!"
Putz: "I perform a live sex show for my neighbors nightly—twice on Saturdays, celibate Mondays—so privacy isn't an issue. But do you, perchance, carry a king-size bed with mounted kleig lights that plays 'Come All Ye Faithful'?"
Fadeout.
Lights up, center stage. Putz shouting into cell-phone, smirking operator in background.
Putz: "A neighbor said I could get a loaner phone until my line is connected."
Screwed: "Yes, it's a Sprint cell phone, programmed to your home number."
Putz: "So what if the cell signal sucks?"
Screwed: "Sprint can't help that, sir."
Putz: "I'm racking up a wireless bill thicker than the Sprint Guide to Alleged Customer Service. Why wasn't I told about loaners before I began putting a Verizon executive's kid through grad school?"
Screwed: "I really couldn't say, sir, I'm ..." bzzt, bzzzzzzzzzt ...
Putz: "Hello? HELLO! Aaaaaaaargh!"
Screwed: bzzzzzzzt, bzzzt ... "Hello? Hello, are you there, sir?"
Putz: "I'm here! Listen, is my service still set for February 27, at least?"
Screwed: "You're set for March 4."
Fadeout. Lights up, stage left.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Whoever II: "Welcome to the neighborhood! Do you realize how easily someone could break into your beautiful new home? We'll install a high-tech-made-to-NASA-specs security system with an alarm that can reach approximately to the Orion Nebula—only $99!"
Putz: "We're already protected. What with all our Rolexes and our collection of Faberge eggs and our Coins of Ancient Mesopotamia series—thank God for resealable airtight Glad Bags."
Fadeout.Lights up, center stage.
Putz shouting into phone. Operator with feet on desk, browsing Vogue.
Putz: "I know you said" ... bzzt, bzzzzzzzt, bzzzzzzt ... "HELLO? You said no service till the 27th, but there was a Sprint employee here yesterday, checking the lines. He said the company knows how desperate we are, and we'd get service today."
Screwed: "We have no records indicating we dispatched anyone to your neighborhood yesterday."
Putz: "But he was here. I was so thrilled, I hugged him. Hell, I'd have married him if I'd had a decent phone to call a caterer."
Screwed: "Sir, we have no ..."
Putz: "I know, you have no computer record of any alleged hugging incidents. Is it still set for March 4th, then?"
Screwed: "Our records indicate February 17."
Fadeout. Lights up, stage left.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Whoever III: "Welcome to the neighborhood! We do lush, lovely landscaping for less, and the alliteration is free! We can turn your back yard into a tropical garden!"
Putz: "Can I get that jungles-of-'Nam look, tres-Apocalypse Now? And some scorched-earth accents with a hint of napalm for that fresh, carpet-bombed scent?"
Fadeout. Lights up, stage right.
Putz, at door separating kitchen from pool area, with pool contractor screwing in a small, white box.
Contractor: "That should do it. Now, if this door is open for more than seven seconds, you'll hear this"—BLAAARE! BLAAARE! BLAAARE! BLAAARE!—"until you press this button."
Putz: "How can I just disable that thing without unscrewing it every time?"
Contractor: "You can't, sir. County ordinance. To prevent child drownings, the government says you must have this, or a fence around your pool."
Putz: "What if I don't have children? Or I wanna move a patio set out there without setting a land-speed record for furniture-hurling? OR I JUST WANNA GODDAMN BREEZE?"
Contractor: "I'm afraid the government says you can't, sir. However [he raises an eyebrow, unscrews the case and points], did I mention it needs a 9-volt battery?"
Fadeout. Lights up, center stage. Putz, on cell-phone. Operator, wearing a cruel smile.
Putz: "It's February 17. Where's my service?"
Screwed: "You're now scheduled for February 27."
Putz: "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Fadeout. Lights up, stage left.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Whoever IV: "Welc ...
Putz: "Have any of you people considered a less toxic line of work? Perhaps sticking lit firecrackers in your ass and passing gas? You'd be big at kids' parties."
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Construction Supervisor: "Hey, didja know that a stripper is moving right across the street from you? Yer a single dude, ain'tja?"
Putz: "Really? A stripper? The answer to your question is that ... it doesn't matter what the answer to your question is."
CS: "You gonna invite her to use yer backyard pool?"
Putz: "Eventually. First, I'll go borrow a double-D cup of sugar."
Fadeout. Lights up, center stage.
Screwed: "Sir, your phone lines finally passed inspection. Expect service Wednesday."
Putz: "Who cares? My new neighbor offers a better way to get screwed."
Screwed: "But sir—what about our fabulous Sprint services, like call-waiting and caller-ID and three-way conferencing?"
Putz: "Yeah, but you can't match her star-69 technique."
Fadeout. Epilogue. Putz to the audience:
Putz: "Phone service was turned on, not February 27, not March 4, not February 17, not the day after I embraced a dirt-encrusted little man in a utility belt who doesn't exist, but February 25th.
"In related news, hell opened a ski lodge."
Curtain.