Cable Guy: May I speak to Mr. Misanthrope, please?
CG: (Impatiently) This is Jim from the Commercial Cable Company. I’m here to install your cable upgrade. Requesting access to your compound here.
MM: You want me to open the security door to the apartment complex, you mean?
CG: Yes, sir. That’s exactly what I just said.
MM: Okay. I’ll input the access codes, granting you entry through the external fortifications momentarily.
CG: Are you going to open the goddamn door or what?
MM: Yeah, dude. I’ll be right there. Shit.
MM: What the fuck?
MM opens the security door to meet a tall, disheveled black guy with long dreadlocks and muddy, untied boots.
CG: What took you so long, sir?
MM: I’m on the third floor. I had to get down here.
CG: Well, I’m working according to a point system. I don’t get paid by the hour, so I hope in the future when I ask you for something you comply in a timelier fashion.
MM and CG enter the building’s elevator.
MM: (Surprised) A point system?
CG: (Sigh) Yes, sir. A point system. For example, installing basic cable is ten points. I have a certain number of job sites to visit in a day, and I get paid by however many points I earn by completing different jobs. In fact, I just received word that I got another job across town I have to add to my route after this one. So, like I said, I don’t have time for games and nonsense.
MM: That’s rather unorthodox, isn’t it?
CG: Sir, have you ever worked for a cable company?
CG: Then you would have no idea, would you?
MM: I suppose not. But in the past I’ve dealt with a number of other cable guys, and none of them ever mentioned a point system.
CG: Well, sir, they were probably just contractors the company paid to take care of a surplus of jobs. I’m an actual employee so my situation is different. I’m in a hurry, so let’s not waste any more time.
MM: In that case, let me just put this elevator into overdrive so we reach the third floor a lot quicker. If I had known time was of the essence, we could have taken my teleporter.
CG: (Sigh) You fucking white boys.
MM: Excuse me?
Elevator door opens and CG rushes out, stomping down the hall in the wrong direction.
MM: My apartment’s over this way, actually.
CG: You think you’re pretty funny, huh?
MM: My sense of humor isn’t really something I’m thinking about right now, no.
CG and MM enter MM’s room.
CG: So what is it that you want?
MM: I’m getting a DVR installed.
CG: This television doesn’t look high-definition to me.
MM: That’s because it’s not.
CG: Well then I can’t help you. You can only have a DVR with a high-definition television.
MM: That’s strange. My brother, who lives in this very building, has the same TV I have, and he got a DVR about nine months ago.
CG: Why are you trying to make my job difficult, sir?
MM: I’m not trying to do anything of the sort.
CG: Then why did you request a high-definition DVR when you don’t have a high-definition television.
MM: I never requested a high-definition anything.
CG looks around MM's studio apartment, noticing the Cannibal Corpse and Mayhem posters on the otherwise bare walls. (See pictures at the end of the post.)
CG: Well, I have to go check my van for a non-HD DVR. Come with me, though, because I don’t want to have to wait for you to open the door when I come back up.
CG and MM enter the elevator and stand in silence momentarily.
CG: You fucking crazy white boys, haha.
MM: Yeah, about that: what do you mean?
CG: You one of those serial killers, ain’t you?
CG: Riiiight … that’s what you say now, but just wait until you be on the news, getting hauled off by the cops for cutting up 20 hookers and keeping them in your freezer. You fucking crazy white boys, haha!
MM: I assure you, I’ve never killed anybody.
CG: Yet, you mean. You haven’t killed anybody yet. You white boys always do, though.
MM: Well, I’ll try not to let my whiteness overwhelm me and kill anybody while you’re here.
CG: Uh-huh. Haha, crazy white boys!
MM and CG walk to the van and CG looks for a non-HD DVR.
CG: Well, sir, unfortunately, I don’t have a non-HD device for you. I don’t know why you would request an HD box without owning an HD television, but you’re in luck because I have to go back to HQ anyway, so I’ll pick one up and come back.
MM: I never asked for an HD anything, but I appreciate the fact that you’re going to do your job.
CG: I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you here, sir. This is setting me far, far off schedule.
MM: I’ll call your boss immediately to nominate you for the Cable Guy Medal of Honor.
CG: I appreciate that, but it wouldn’t help me that much. Be here in exactly 14 minutes to let me back into the building.
CG arrives 20 minutes later.
CG: I hope you’re happy, sir. Now I’m so far behind schedule I don’t know how I’m ever going to catch up.
MM: Don’t lose hope, dude. Miracles happen.
MM and CG enter elevator again.
CG: So how many people have you killed, exactly?
MM: Not nearly many as you have, I suspect.
CG: You white boys is fuckin’ crazy, man. I swear to god!
MM: Yeah, yeah. We sure are.
CG: Seriously, I seen all that evil shit you got on your walls.
MM: So which is more likely to make me a serial killer: the music I listen to or the fact that I was born white?
CG: One affects the other, sir. Ain’t you never heard of casuality? [Editor’s note: We can only assume the cable guy meant causality.]
MM: Isn’t calling one of your customers a serial killer bad for business?
MM: Actually, isn’t asking a serial killer if he’s a serial killer bad for your health? I mean, suppose I really were a serial killer like you seem to believe. Wouldn’t that put you in some kind of danger? As a serial killer, if I didn’t call you here just to butcher you and turn your skin and reeking viscera into furniture, wouldn’t your constant accusations be reason enough for me to kill you just to ensure your silence and my continued freedom? Just what kind of stupid, lead-dense motherfucker goes around pissing off serial killers in their own homes?
CG: Haha! You crazy, white motherfucker!
MM: Dude, you are so incredibly lucky I only kill syphilitic hookers that remind me of my mother.
CG: (Nervously) Hehe … ahem.
From that point on, CG installed the DVR in almost total, nervous silence, occasionally muttering to himself about how late he was.
CG: Well, that will do it, sir. Again, I’d like to mention how much trouble this all was for me.
MM: Uh-huh. Do you want a tip or something?
CG: After all the trouble I went through to hook you up here today, sir, and you have to ask me something like that? I mean, look here: I used the good cable to hook up your DVR. Technically, we’re not even required to use the good cables, but I did. You know, that shit ain’t free. That wire’s about 20 dollars per foot, and to make sure your reception was perfect I used about a foot and a half of it. I didn’t have to—in fact, the guy the installed your cable here initially used the cheap stuff. I fixed his sloppy job and hooked you up good, sir.
MM: So, what do you want? 30 bucks?
CG: (Smiling) I did use the good cable, sir. And I’m so far behind now things are going to be difficult for me the rest of the day. I’ll probably end up working late and everything.
MM: I see. Well, I got something better for you. Something infinitely better than money.
CG: What do you mean, sir?
MM: (Walking over to the freezer in the kitchen) I got something much, much better for you, pal. Hahahaha.
CG: Uh, well, you know, I better get going, actually.
MM: (Pulling out a freezer bag full of ground beef) You like white girls, don’t you?
CG: (Already in the hallway) The paperwork’s on the floor, sir. Have a nice day.