When we last left me, I was whining about how my TV was broken. The experience was so traumatic I couldn’t fit into one column, so here, dear readers, is the conclusion to “The Broken TV Dilemma”…

The problem persisted. I’d be watching a show, maybe Jack Bauer’s Power Hour as he tortured somebody for the good of America, when, boom -- the picture would disappear. Where evildoers had failed, my Toshiba TV had succeeded. It’d stopped lil’ JB.

Stubbornly, I called Best Buy’s warranty department to set up another Saturday appointment. On Mohammed’s return visit that sassy bitch of a TV was fine again, and the photo of the messed up screen wasn’t enough to convince him. It was only after he’d been gone that the picture sneakily compressed into that taunting bright line. Bastard TV.

I tried to deal with it, but I couldn’t. Another call to the warranty department, another visit from Mohammed (whom I’d now already seen more frequently this year than my mom). Another appointment with no issues. I tried to explain to him that I wasn’t making this TV problem up, but he seemed skeptical.

The third time I set up an appointment, I heard Mohammed’s familiar voice on the phone at 7:00am Saturday morn, but instead of giving me a two hour window when he’d visit, he told me to just call him if the TV messed up. He was totally blowing me off, but I couldn’t blame him. And it didn’t mess up until later that night, after he was off work and doing whatever it is he does with his Saturday nights.

I’d grown weary of dealing with this repair shit. I wanted to pick up my TV and throw it out the window, but I have a bad back. I also didn’t want to accidentally crush a neighbor.

Sometime around month two, I managed to get Mohammed back to the house. It’s not like I was requesting him, he just seemed to be the Best Buy repair guy for my area or something. He looked at the TV. It was working fine. To him I was clearly insane. He half-heartedly checked out the back of the set, and that’s when it happened.

“MOHAMMED! THE TV’S FUCKING UP! HUZZAH!!!”

Mohammed looked at the screen, and sure enough, it was all black with that thin bright horizontal line in the middle. He now knew what the problem was.

As he took off the back of the television, my roommate and his visiting mother came to my room to check on us. Also with them, via video iChat on his MacBook was one of m’roommate’s friends. Hopped up on coffee, roomie first introduced Mohammed to his mom, then to his friend on the iChat. Mohammed was impressed. There was both waving and smiles.

Mohammed took my roommate up on his offer for a bottle of water and began fiddling with a crazy big microchip looking panel inside my TV. He told me the problem was a common one and that whatever it was he was doing would absolutely fix it. When he was finished, the picture was fine. I was relieved. So was Mohammed. We parted ways on good terms. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful.

***

Until that very goddamned evening when the TV fucked up again!

Furious, I’d turned it off and on until the picture came back and lived with it for a couple of weeks. But it got worse and worse. I found myself not even watching TV, which goes against my very being.

Finally, I called Best Buy again. I could actually hear eyes rolling on the other end of the line as I rattled on and on about how unhappy I was with the service. But we set up the Saturday appointment.

Of course, the TV was fine when Mohammed, who insisted he needed to see the problem again to do anything, arrived. As he was leaving, my roommate offered to make him a sandwich, motioning toward our kitchen, which contained no sandwich ingredients. Luckily, Mohammed declined.

The following week, same shit. But that Friday night before the regular Saturday appointment, the TV messed up again, and instead of turning it off, I kept it on so Mohammed could see he hadn’t fixed it.

Of course, right before Mohammed arrived, the picture corrected itself. Mohammed decided he’d done all he could and that I needed a new TV. So, he put in a request, telling me I’d hear from Best Buy in a few days.

A week went by with no phone call, so I called Best Buy my own damn self. They denied the new TV request. In other words, they denied my will to live.

***

The next Best Buy technician to visit was not Mohammed. Though I thought we’d formed a bond though our struggles, not unlike two rebel freedom fighters trying to keep warm on the planet Hoth, he was done with me. In his place was Oscar.

I babbled to Oscar of my trials. When I described the problem, he said that Toshiba had sent out a bulletin about a faulty part. Replacing this part would fix everything. Why hadn’t Mohammed known about this???

Irregardless, Oscar put in the part request, said I’d get a call in a few days, and was gone.

***

As is customary when dealing with Best Buy, I waited a week, then called them myself. Turns out, the part was on back order and wouldn’t be available for another month! This was April. The problems started in January. And now they were telling me another month??

I got sassy. Livid even. I demanded a new television. They denied this, saying that the part would fix all. I asked to speak to a supervisor. The supervisor was gone for the evening, but the next day, I got a call from her. I babbled my dissatisfaction regarding their service. She sighed and told me they’d let me know when the part arrived.

***

Perhaps due to my teary eyed hysterics on the phone, the part magically arrived a couple weeks sooner than they’d estimated. I set up the appointment, and Oscar came over. I wondered if Mohammed was embarrassed because Oscar knew about this faulty part when he hadn’t.

Showing me the tiny wire doodad with plastic tubes on each end, Oscar said in amusement, “This costs twenty-two cents.”

I paced as he performed surgery on my TV. Finally, when he was finished, the picture was fine. All seemed well, but I’d learned not to get too comfortable. Mohammed had assured me the TV was fixed a month earlier…

Still, it’s been working fine ever since -- as of this writing, that’s four days. I remain leery, but I’m cautiously optimistic about my TV viewing future… if only there was more on to watch.