My head lolls back and forth with the sway of the train as it rises out of the tunnel beneath Union Station and out into the night. It’s a crisp, clear fall night, as Summer has faded into the past and winter has begun its preparations for its eventual turn at the steering. Trying desperately to unwind, the soundtrack is currently playing a new version of the old black spiritual, “O Death” by a singer named Jen Titus. It’s a darkly industrial version of the song, cut together for a television promo. The guitars and factory machine-like beat providing a perfect undercurrent to a song begging for another year to escape the clutches of the Grim Reaper.

Hey, I said I was trying to unwind, not that I wanted out of my funk.

My funk is where the energy festers-coiling and roiling, clawing to get out in some form or another. It’s probably why I’ve been able to make all of these ridiculous deadlines laid out before me. Well all save one. I’ll be damned if I haven’t been too busy writing to actually write about writing.
But that isn’t why we’re here today, sadly my shameless self-promotion will have to wait for another, more ego-centric trip through the Metropolitan Metro Rail System.  No, before the evil backbiting demons that are gnashing at my gut turn into a mass of anger and frustration, allow me to share with you a tale…

Many moons ago, in the far-off, ancient land known to scholars and cartographers as the Land With Springs of Silver, there lived a Baron Von Pearson. A gentle landowner, he kept mostly to himself, rarely poking his head out from his homestead to trouble his neighbors. As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for his daily treks to DC and a few nights carousing at the local taverns, he’d be considered a total shut-in. With a lifestyle such as this, it is not entirely a revelation that the Good Baron’s interaction with the world centered primarily around a thick coaxial cable that ran into the back of a little green box with flickering lights perched on his desk.

You must understand, dear reader, that the Baron and this box had quite the love-hate relationship. When it worked the Baron lavished upon it much usage and intriguing applications of its various abilities. However, being managed by the evil overlord, Count DeCom Cast, it was frequently brought low, requiring many tithes and tidings in order to encourage the brigand to release his stranglehold. It was a horrible and unjust situation, with the collected “taxes” often being directed to their own coffers than in improving any of the structural integrity of what can only be considered a utility service.

This siege against the Baron’s lands lasted for more than 3 years, until one day a knight rode over the Verizon. This Knight, Sir FIOS, promised that his faithful steed could travel at such marvelous speeds, delivering the Baron from the daily drudgery delivered by the dastardly and diabolical Count-and as he had heard many a wonderous tale about the Knight’s heroic exploits, the good Baron agreed. Before long, the Knight in shining armor banished the foul Count to the forgotten lands, and for a time, the good Baron was happy.

However such things, dear readers, are apparently not meant to last.

As the months moved swiftly by, the Baron’s satisfaction with the services guaranteed by the Knight grew in direct portion to his concern over the fact that the Knight did not seem to desire any compensation. Even in this far flung land, services rendered usually required some form or recompense. Eventually the Baron dared direct communication in the direction of the Knight’s Order…

The frustration was as intense as it was immediate, what with the fact that his request of, “ I need my account number because I haven’t gotten a bill and would like to check it out online. Apparently the info I need is not in any of the literature I was given,” was met with numerous reroutes as he was bounced from one department to another. After the fourth time, the good Baron felt a particular urge that he hadn’t felt in ages, a rumbling in his gut…a rumbling. Eventually he was routed to an operator that could, supposedly, assist him with his matter. It is after this, and the third confirmation of his identity that our tale takes a dark turn…

“Well sir, I see you have a balance of two hundred and fifty seven dollars. How would you like to make a payment today?”

“What? Waitaminute-How the hell does THAT happen? I haven’t received a single bill!”

“Well sir, you have this set to charge your credit card, so you wouldn’t receive paper bills in the mail.”

“Funny thing though. Obviously the credit card charges haven’t gone through, or else I wouldn’t owe you two hundred and fifty seven freakin’ dollars. You think you might want to have informed me of a problem, or called to find out if I could give you another card? So you could-you know-get your money?”

“Yes, you should have gotten an email, sir. That’s what the system is supposed to do.”

“Only email I’ve gotten from you are two spam messages about ‘Member Services’ every week.”

“My apologies sir,” -and without missing a beat- “how would you like to make payment today? It’s free online, but there is a service charge for doing it over the phone.”

“Well I can’t go online. That’s why I called you, today. You guys never gave me my account information!” Once again, the Baron went over every bit of paper and documentation provided both at the time of install, and again, the information provided at the time the service was ordered. No account or order information.

“Well sir, you have to setup your account on verizon.net first, then you can login and get your bill.”

“Oh kay….and how do I do this?”

“You go to verizon.net.”

And this, dear reader, is where we enter the circular portion of the conversation:

After three, very precise, deep breaths-and through clenched teeth: “Clearly. Now, what information do I need to complete this process?”

“Your account number.”

The sound of the Baron’s hand smacking his forehead was clearly audible across the line, little did he realize a vein was also starting its slow protruding march across his brow as well…

“That. Is. why. I. Called. You.” Sparks were beginning to fly off as the Baron’s molars were ground into a substance not unlike a diamond. After several minutes of haranguing and negotiation, the required information was finally communicated to the Baron, who was no longer in a state of complacent enjoyment of his services. Indeed, he was beginning to fear that something insipid had installed itself in his homestead.

Using the proper credentials were attained, he tried valiantly-yet-vainly to follow the procedure that was set forth by the wily operator. Unfortunately the process required that he open his homestead to even more of their “software”-software that, it should be noted, did not work, and repeatedly stopped functioning entirely, eventually bringing low the very machinery it was intended to enhance!

By now, the rumbling in his gut had grown exponentially in strength, occasionally forcing itself out of his lips in the form of random declarations of, “fuck!”-and other less-printable words involving the potential sexual practices a goat and an orangutang might attempt on the various perceived persecutors from the Order of the Verizon. But he eventually was able to move far enough into the process to reach the desired goal of viewing his bill…

…If he entered a preset username and password, and the windows of his castle rattled with his impotent rage.

It was then that the Good Baron Von Pearson passed from this land of the streams of silver. Blasted was he from this earth by a villainous agency most-foul. But from his ashes, a new hero was born. One who would let the treacherous telecommunications industry know that no longer shall the meek tremble in terror at their scum and villainy. A hero that, if he could not defeat such enemies he would… well…

He’d tell them exactly where to stick it.

Because it was then that the Baron Von Grumblefuck was born.

The End.

Or is it?