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The Hole 2:
Revenge of the glitch

When fate pushes us into The Hole, the dark, glitch-rich underbelly of the Digital Age, a smart Digital Slob will recognize the danger and freeze, since technical difficulties, like anacondas, only squeeze tighter when you struggle.

Therefore a few Fridays ago, when my bank account was pillaged by both an online retailer and my cell phone service -- which no longer works in my house -- I tried to stop all further forward motion into the abyss.

I shut down my computer, bolt-locked my door and reinforced the duct tape that keeps my entertainment center from collapsing like a structurally unsound stack of oranges in the produce section.

But then I got greedy and decided to take a shower, just to feel clean again and begin the day anew, even if it was already 5:15 p.m.

But, there was no water.

Now, regardless of what emotional scars you carry, until you're in a no-water situation in your condo on a Friday at 5:15 p.m., you really don't know what loneliness is.

First, the building manager (the guy you have to invite over to watch football every Sunday if you want your violation of Paragraph XII Subsection E of the tenant rulebook concerning grills on decks to be ignored) is long gone.

Second, other tenants have yet to commute back home to hear the wonderful news.

Third, your significant other, projecting your worse-case-scenario body odor come Monday morning, retreats to a minimum safe distance.

Fourth, even your dog seems reluctant to make eye contact, and starts pacing around his only emergency reserve in the toilet.

Such circumstances forced me to unbolt my door and venture out for the after-hours contact number on the building manager's office door. Once outside, my cell phone rebooted, I found the number and dialed. Then, a recorded message tested whatever grasp on reality I still had.

To summarize, it said I had reached an "emergency" number. However, if I had an "emergency or threat to life, I should hang up and call 911." Then, it said this line was only for "emergencies, such as fire, flood or threats to life." If my call "was not such an emergency, then hang up" and call the regular number during normal business hours.

So, my options were hang up, or hang up. I couldn't even press 2 for Spanish.

This firm, in a single outgoing-message masterstroke, had stipulated itself out of ever doing anything. It was either under qualified or overqualified to handle every situation known to man.

After listening for a loophole on the looped tape many times, I began to wonder if a sudden urge to take my own life qualified me to wait for an operator, or dial 911. I waited, if only to get the clarification.

Once I pleaded the life-or-death merits of my case to the interactive version of the operator, she exhausted her ample supply of sighs and asked me to check the tap in the sink. If it was out as well, she'd page the building manager -- just this once.

So I raced back inside, where, of course, I lost my cell signal, along with my last glimpse of any light coming from outside The Hole.

At that point, even a hug from an anaconda might not have felt so bad.