Remote-controlled family with a TV problem

Sitting on the plastic covered sofa, drinking a cup of tea with a whole lot of sugar and watching “I Love Lucy” — which came on at 10:30 every morning — was about as good as it got in the late 1950s. Our TV set on its metal stand, with antennae proudly stretched as tall as they could go, looked like something straight out of the Jetsons. You just plugged it into the wall, pressed the on/off button, turned the dial to one of four numbers, and it was as easy as that.

 

Years passed and TV was still a primary focus of our family life. Our expectations changed as did the style of our televisions. The biggest change was the biggest TV that anyone in our world had ever seen. This happened when we first got married, and when this massive piece of furniture was delivered to our cozy little home, I realized that there might be a bit of a problem. I was just becoming accustomed to stereo speakers — woofers, tweeters and the like — and quantities and sizes of TVs were stretching my patience.  

 

As years passed, more TVs were replaced with bigger and thinner models. Once we retired, I found myself living on Daniel Island sharing my lovely home with eight TVs! Now, we are not among the rich and famous by any means, but my generous husband thinks that being able to watch TV is nirvana, and he wants to share that ultimate happiness with any and all of our guests.

 

So, nine years ago, when we were constructing our home, we had very complicated wiring built into the walls to accommodate every audio/visual need that we could possibly have in this lifetime. Along with our new system, there was definitely a learning curve. There were remotes that would stump anyone not a graduate from a technological institute. There were satellites and a myriad of companies that needed to be selected from to make this happen.

 

There was no end to the number of genius/geeks coming and going with their headphones and iPads, doing their best to make our TVs work.

 

Also, there was no end to the number of times I threw one of those hideously expensive remotes across the room and then found myself crawling around on the floor looking for a ridiculous number of batteries that always flew in every direction.

 

But the coup de gras came just a few days ago. My husband decided to upgrade our TVs and work with yet another audio/visual company. (I don’t know if that’s what you even call them nowadays.) The new set of genius/geeks came in with what had to be one of the biggest, thinnest, sleekest TVs on the planet. That meant that almost all of the big, thin, sleek TVs that we already had needed to be switched into different rooms and instead of remotes we would now be using our phones to control them.  

 

Two days later, when everyone who didn’t live here left, there we were — holding our phones and staring at our newest TV that absolutely under any circumstances was not going to work — and the TVs in the master bedroom and man cave were following suit. It was like a cult.

 

Initially, I felt my blood pressure rising. Then I looked at my husband, trying so hard to get the TVs to cooperate and I just collapsed into laughter that was so intense that I literally couldn’t breathe. I’m pretty sure our dog was laughing, too.

 

Well, the geeks were back today and I think things are under control, although that is probably not something I will ever be able to say about my roommate — the TV-holic.  

 

So here we are, many years and TVs later. I don’t put sugar in my tea anymore. “I Love Lucy” episodes have been re-done in weird colors now and I’m not a fan. However, borrowing the Ricky Ricardo adage that has withstood the test of time: if even one more TV comes through our door, my husband will have some serious “splaining” to do.