Table on Ten has high-speed FiOS wireless internet. Nine words can sometimes be a symphony.
The old, old tale of Delaware County slim-as-a-whisker bandwidth was culled from Classic Myth and Legend. Along with the next snowstorm in June and Abigail Munson’s cat’s hysterectomy, it was a topic that could occupy four people for a solid ten minutes whilst waiting in line to buy Lipton Pasta Sides in Price Chopper.
You seen that clip on YouTube where the goat dances with the vacuum cleaner?
You get YouTube clips?
Well, no, but I saw something about it on Facebook.
You get Facebook?
Set me an alarm for 3.30 in the morning on clear nights when nobody’s awake, there’s no deer in the field and the satellite’s directly overhead. I have Walter stand naked on the milking shed with the wireless router in his outstretched palm like the Statue of Liberty.
(they all mumble in astonishment)
Did two Instagram posts last Tuesday.
I got an email in February.
Since its inception almost three years ago, Table on Ten’s communication with the outside world has been at the mercy of a battered 1970’s era Soyuz-era spaceship, manned by a grizzled primate smoking Lucky Strikes, wigging out to Elton John’s Tiny Dancer. Anybody who’s been present on a busy summer Pizza Night when there’s not even enough cyberjuice to fire up the register and we’re tattooing customers’ telephone numbers on each other’s breastbones so we can call them the next day to pay for their dinner, has witnessed humans being forked in the ass by satyrs on the seventh terrace of Purgatory.
On Wednesday 11th March 2015, at approximately 8.30 am, the men from Delhi Telephone Company rode into Bloomville like the Gods of Asgard, armed with a cherry picker and cable the girth of a baby’s forearm. By 2 pm the spectre of Spacemonkey had been forever banished. Information was pouring through our computers like the open sluice-gates of the Grand Coulee Dam. Emails dating from the Kennedy era, whole phalanxes of cut-price Cialis opportunities, Dr Oz’s Newest Fat Burner and a vast inheritance from Mr Winston Mobutu waiting to be claimed from a safety deposit box in Swaziland. We used Google. We played Spotify without throwing the offline button. We watched dogs pretending to be humans eating dinner. We did it all.
And then we did it all again.
Table on Ten has lightning-speed FiOS internet. Aliens have invaded Sydney Center. The Pope has given birth to an ostrich. Come gather round people, wherever you roam. Coffee’s on. Eggs are in pans. Parents; your children can play DoodleJump on your iPhone while you nurse that hangover and pretend to read Modern Farmer. Kim Kardashian’s colossal bottom is right here, right now on River Street. Bloomville Calling. Come out of the cupboard. You boys and girls.