TV Melodrama

I’m a member of some groups that, although fairly common-place here, in most places outside BYU-Idaho would be considered fairly unique: Eagle Scout, returned missionary, pumpkin pie eating contest participant (yeah, I lost), blond-haired but near-fluent Spanish speaker, etc. There is one group that I’m a member of though that I’ve found to be in a very small, interesting minority: I grew up in a house without cable TV. 

I know, right? Just to prevent any undue judgements, yes, we did have running water and electricity, a toaster and we drove a horseless carriage. We even lived in a pretty normal neighborhood. But, my parents just never saw the logic behind paying $30 each month for us kids to stay inside and watch stuff they didn’t think would help us in the long or short run, anyway. “That’s enough money in a year to buy a new bike!” my mom would say, trying to put it into perspective for me.

Our neighbors’ examples failed to change their misguided behavior as my younger sister and I had hoped. So, she and I were exposed to exotic 90’s gems such as “Saved by the Bell” and “Fresh Prince of Bel-Aire” when we visited friends’ houses. “How wonderful it would be”, we thought, upon returning to our 3-channel 19 inch living room TV, “to have 50 whole channels!”

Then I went to college. Now, on the extremely rare occasion when I start flipping through channels while eating dinner, I wonder, sometimes out loud, “How can you have almost 100 channels with absolutely nothing to watch?” Ok fine, so I love watching MythBusters when I get the chance. What guy doesn’t like seeing things blow up? 

But, overall, I guess that old habits die hard. Even though now I have a full array of Cable One’s finest available to me 24/7 right in my apartment living room, I still watch more T.V. when I go to give plasma than I do at my apartment. 

Once, after a particularly unproductive search for something to watch, in exasperation I told my roommates it would be better if we didn’t even have a TV. Boy did I hear it then. In that apartment, the TV usually got switched on before the lights did, leading me to complain that it seemed like we hardly ever even had real conversations. 

One Sunday, as we were headed out to church, I happened to be the last one out. I pulled the TV’s cord from the wall socket and tossed it behind the TV. I figured it would be about five minutes before my roommates figured it out. I had to stay for an interview after church and when I got home, the apartment was in crisis mode. “The TV is broke!” my roommates lamented.

I stood silent in the doorway for a moment, considering my options. The fact that I had just come from church made me feel like I needed to make at least a half-hearted attempt at honesty. “Are you sure it’s not just unplugged?” I asked. “No, we checked that!” they insisted. Nervous now that I somehow really had broken the TV, I went back to my room where I confessed my actions to my roommate Jared. “Should I tell them?” I asked. He considered for a brief moment before a sneaky grin grew across his face as he shook his head no. 

Days went by and the living room began a slow transformation. “Actually, I’m really liking  it this way,” one of my roommates said. “I’m getting so much more homework done!” said another. This went on for nearly the whole week, with their conviction and praise of the no-TV idea growing all the time. 

Then, towards the end of the week, I opened the door to a strange noise - ESPN. “So, Brett,” my roommates on the couch said, “We have a story to tell you.” “Oh?” I replied, already nervous at their faux-cool tones. “We put in a work request for the TV and the maintenance man came today.” The tension was building as steeply as in any CSI interrogation scene. “Oh, so he fixed the TV?” I said with veiled cheeriness. “He fixed it alright,” the roommate replied with a similar veil of cheeriness. 

“He plugged it back in, laughed, and said, ‘That’ll be $500!’” The roommate’s glare increased in intensity. 

“Hey, you guys said you liked it,” I reminded them defensively while retreating quickly towards my bedroom. A chorus of, “So it WAS you!” along with a few empty pop bottles and other easily reached throwing items flew after me as I ducked into the room. 

So, here’s to you; the few, the proud, whose childhood homes didn’t have cable. And here’s to that unashamed, singular group of those who still don’t know how many episodes of Seinfeld, Sports Center, or Doug  we missed out on, to those who silently shake our heads when we don’t understand another Office addict insider joke. “We know better,” we tell ourselves.