Jeeves Hates Me!
(The final chapter)
It’s been a while since I last wrote about Jeeves, the pain-in-the-butt Roomba we have that absolutely hates me, but that doesn’t mean technological peace has reigned in the Rosen homestead. I now have two more cordless blinds that resist both proper raising or lowering and my attempts to fix them. This bothers me primarily because they aren’t technological devices at all, yet they obey Jeeves’ orders to annoy me. And they, quite frankly, are not my major issue with Jeeves.
To refresh your memories, when last I wrote about the recalcitrant Roomba, my laptop was running excruciatingly slowly and my toaster oven wasn’t working properly (worse still, it giggled when I expressed frustration). The toaster oven has been replaced and the old one resides in our basement, awaiting Milford’s spring bulk pickup in a couple of months. Fortunately, the laptop stopped running slowly. Unfortunately, it stopped working altogether right after “Death to the Oppressive Gentility” appeared for a moment on the display. Honestly. Would I lie to you?
As I believe I have mentioned in a previous column, I spent about twenty years repairing and maintaining IBM computer systems, so I am not afraid of facing tech problems. Having exhausted my usual resources and tests for dealing with computer issues—including the customary crying, pleading, and use of rather colorful language—I took the laptop to a place where I’ve done similar business before. The women and men who work there do good work repairing computers, electronic game stations, phones, etc., but when I entered the place there was only one person, the owner. Due to the pandemic, he rarely has more than himself and one other person working on equipment. The bags under his eyes had “American Tourister” on them.
It took a month, but he finally determined a short in the battery had slowly ended its life, and said short had fed to the motherboard where it took out the power control area. Terrific. The cost of replacing parts plus labor made the only possible decision: replace the laptop, which I have done. In a proactive move—or a preemptive strike, however you’d like to look at it—once I had unpacked the new laptop I immediately gently stroked its cover and soothingly asked, “Would you like to see the present I bought for you?”
I heard a low, soft hum come from the laptop and then I displayed in front of it a brand new surge protector. The soft hum now sounded a little louder and, honestly, it sounded more like a purr. Must have been my imagination.
At that very moment, Jeeves, which had been started up by my better two-thirds, came right into my study. As soon as it did, the purr from the new laptop turned into what I swear sounded like a growl. Jeeves immediately turned and focused its attention on the bedroom carpet.
An hour later, I went to the kitchen to refill my water bottle. Jeeves was in the kitchen and stopped as soon as I entered. Almost immediately, my iPhone beeped with a message from the app that runs Jeeves: “Jeeves has stopped with Error Code 42.” As I have never seen this code before, I turned to the help section on the app and searched for the meaning which I quickly found: “Error Code 42: Jeeves says ‘Your Butt Belongs to Me!”
Oh, boy …
Since that day, our wireless connection, which has never been stellar, has grown worse, with the television in the family room being particularly affected. Many of you can commiserate with the frustration of watching a program and losing part of it because the signal weakened. In our case, the television provides Internet content to us via a streaming stick which, for us, is a Roku. Many of you have one, or a similar device such as an Apple Fire Stick.
The best solution to this problem is not to use wireless to watch television, but to connect a cable from the router (which is what controls how a signal is sent) directly to the Roku. Fortunately, my older son, Jon, has done a lot of this type of wiring in his house and has a lot of the supplies needed to do the job. Unfortunately, we have a pandemic going on, he lives in Massachusetts, and as you may well know, there are serious travel restrictions between our two states. Once restrictions are lifted and we’ve all been vaccinated, he will be more than happy to help out.
In the meantime, to prove the theory I already knew about direct wiring being a solution, I measured the distance from the router to the Roku (eighty-four feet), and ordered a 100-foot-long cable to cover the distance. As I was ordering the cable online, I distinctly heard a chuckle coming from another room. It didn’t sound like my better two-thirds. Hmmm. The cable arrived the next day and as I opened the package I again heard the chuckle. So I took the cable and showed it to Jeeves.
“Just remember, Jeeves,” I said, invoking my best Gregory Peck-as-Atticus Finch voice, “Mommy watches that television more than I. Anything you do to screw this up will cause her agita.” A low sound came from Jeeves that sounded suspiciously like a digital version of “Here, hold my beer.”
I had already told my better two-thirds that this wouldn’t look pretty; the point being to prove shows would stream much better through a cable than wirelessly. And so I connected the cable to the router and ran it to the television, taping it in place along the top of door frames and around curtain rods. Having completed the route I then went to make the final connection when I realized my rookie’s error, the first lesson I learned in the tech world: always stage any install or cabling project. Translation: our Roku doesn’t allow for a cable connection.
And, again, I heard that low digital chuckle from another room.
After repairing the wall I’d beaten my head against, I looked online and found there is no easy way—no way, practically speaking—to use a cable to connect to the Roku model we have. However, we could upgrade to a model that does allow for a cable connection for only three times the price of the Roku we own. Terrific …
Fortunately, I also read that this was a relatively recent development for the good people of Roku (he typed through clenched teeth), and that older models had the proper connection port. Fortunate because we have an older Roku attached to a different television. I swapped the two Rokus, connected the cable and, voilà, we haven’t had a problem since.
Except one.
After testing the cable signal and informing my better two-thirds that we were good to go and sorry about the look of the overhead cable, I saw the cable had come loose of the masking tape at a door near—you guess it—the room where Jeeves is housed. As I re-taped the cable in place I again heard a low digital sound. Not a chuckle this time, not a murmur but, I swear, it sounded like the song by the Police, “Every Breath You Take,” in particular the line, “I’ll be watching you …”
I’ve done a few re-tapings since then but, again, the cable is up temporarily to prove the point. In the near future, hopefully, Jon will be able to come over and help me get the cabling done properly.
And that’s all I intend writing about Jeeves’ torture of me (I can hear you sigh with relief). But I do have one final event to report, and while some of what I’ve written in all three chapters of The Saga of Jeeves have been ever so slightly exaggerated, this part is absolutely the truth. If you don’t believe me, ask my better two-thirds.
Most days, we take a break in the mid-afternoon, her with tea and me with coffee. We’ll relax and chat for a few minutes before resuming whatever we were doing. Last week, as we began our break my missus started up Jeeves for one of his forays into searching for dust. Of all the rooms to choose, Jeeves, as is the norm, came first toward me. Not wanting our conversation to be disturbed by the noises Jeeves normally makes while operational, my better two-thirds turned and said, “Jeeves, go away.” Jeeves IMMEDIATELY made an about-face and went to another room at the other side of the house proving, once again, who the boss really is.
I hate Jeeves. I really hate Jeeves!
This week’s Street Advertising Smile:
