By Beverly Phillips

Why is it that all cable guys are so good looking? I wonder what their interviews are like. Do the cable execs take them in a room, have them hand over an 8 X 10 glossy, then last, but not least, have them bend over to look at their rear before hiring them? I was just wondering, because every cable guy that has ever come to my house has been a stud with a capital S!! (Okay, okay, I'm an old woman, but I can still appreciate!) It's so comforting to know that I can still count on a few things: Death, taxes, and a good looking CABLEMAN!

The last cableman to visit was sent to see what was wrong with the sound on my TV. Seemed that any station that broadcast cable had a minus 10-decibel reading on the sound meter. I had already called the TV stations to see if they had turned my sound down from their end. They said, "No we haven't," and suggested I call the cableman. (If you look at it that way, in reality it wasn't my idea, ahem.) Without further adieu, I got on the phone and called the C-man to come fix my cable!

The cable people were so happy to oblige, but this was Friday, and they couldn't come 'til Monday. That meant another weekend with the five of us sitting 12 inches away from the TV to be able to hear it. Oh well! I thought, and went about setting the chairs up auditorium style in front of the set. But then, the phone rang.

"Mrs. Phillips, I understand you're having trouble with the sound on your television?" the cable lady said.

"Yes, but I've got the chairs set up auditorium style, so we can handle it for a little while longer!" I obliged.

"Uh, yes, Mrs. Phillips, we have a cableman available right now, if you would like for him to come on out," she offered.

Did I want the cableman to come out? What! It was Friday, 4:30 PM, of course I did!. (Like I said before, cablemen are always good-looking!) What a great way to start out the weekend!

"Sure!" I didn't let her finish. "We'll be here," I assured her.

I excitedly told my 15-year-old daughter that the cableman was coming and that if she ever wanted to know what a perfect male specimen looked like, to hang around! She just laughed at me (remember I'm supposed to be too old for this!), but I noticed she immediately came to stand beside me at the window in anticipation.

Fifteen minutes later, the shiny red cable truck drove into my driveway. As I had predicted, one of the most gorgeous young men in the world stepped out of the truck. Beautiful blond hair and tanned skin, tight jeans, tucked in shirt unbuttoned three buttons down, and he was a body-builder to boot! I heard my daughter next to me begin to hassle like a dog. I jabbed her with my elbow. (There are some things I don't tolerate, hassling is one of them!) We hurried away from the window, so he wouldn't see us watching him, and waited for the knock at the door.

"Are you the cableman?" I asked. Duh, like we didn't know who he was!

"Yes ma'am," he smiled. My god! What beautiful white teeth you have!!! (Oh, sorry, wrong story.) ". . . and I came to look at it for you."

Huh? "Oh, its right over here," I said and pointed to the only television set in the room. My daughter, by this time, was curled up on the sofa like a kitten, her legs placed just so. I noticed she'd donned makeup and brushed her hair. When did that happen? The cableman nodded in her direction. She looked like she was going to faint; I moved her legs and sat down beside her. The cableman went to work on the television.

It was at this time, my older daughter decided to pay a visit (my 29-year-old married daughter). She came in through the back door and wasn't aware that we had company. When she entered the room, I stood quickly, as if I had been caught out. I glanced guiltily at the cableman. Thank God; he hadn't noticed a thing.

"Hey, Mom," my older daughter called from the doorway, "I brought back your-" and then nothing. There she stood, mouth agape, a tiny trail of spittle running down the side of her mouth, her eyes glued to the handsome vision. Here I stood, showing off my cableman. She moved behind the couch and leaned over the back to capture the entire view.

The cableman, by this time, had noticed the silence and turned to look at us. He stood (he had been bending over all this time) and granted us his beautiful smile. "Nothing wrong with the cable," he said. "I think it's your television set." He had to know we were ogling him, didn't he?

"Oh, okay," I think I said.

"If you like, I'll go get my set and hook up to it. We'll see if it does the same thing on mine," the cableman offered.

"Sure!" I answered, probably a bit too quickly. I wasn't ready for him to leave! And by the looks on my daughters' faces, neither were they.

He strode over to the front door, and again we were rewarded with a view of his magnificent body. The minute he had closed the door behind him, my oldest daughter began to fan herself, and my youngest daughter began to jump up and down.

"He's going to lift a TV and bring it in here," I said with a sly grin.

In unison my daughters bounded for the window beside the front door to watch the cableman at work. I myself, being too old for that foolishness, waited patiently by the television set. (I knew he would be carrying it inside!)

By the time the cableman brought his television inside, the girls were back where they were before, looking just the same, except perhaps for the beads of sweat popping out on their upper lips. Muscles rippling, he carried his TV under one arm. With his free hand, the he pulled back one of the chairs I had already placed close to the TV. It was no effort at all. Big, buff, and beautiful, he sat and placed the television on his lap. Seemingly oblivious to our shenanigans, he hooked it up and began scanning the channels.

"So, you're a body-builder," I stated. "Do you compete?" Nothing like stating the obvious. what else was I supposed to say? (Besides, I was trying to cover my younger daughter's panting!)

"Yes ma'am. I'm a body-builder, but it's a hobby. I don't compete," he answered nicely. By now, my son-in-law had walked in to see what was going on. Taking the situation in with a sweeping gaze, he left the room quickly.

The cableman switched the knobs on the TV to one station, then another, doing his cableman thing. In a nutshell, it was my television, not the cable, that was bad. He announced as much, said something about my needing to take the set to a shop or some nonsense. He stood, bent over to pick up his tools, and treated us, one last time, to a look at his delicious rear-end. Heavy sigh, heavy sigh.

I walked him to the front door (slightly behind him, if you know what I mean), thanked him for all his hard work, and closed the door. My daughters were already stationed at the side window to see him off. I moved over next to them. The cableman got into his truck and pulled the seat belt tight. It looked like he wrote something in a notebook (probably what a nut house this had been). After a moment, he started his truck. He began to back out of the driveway, but paused just before the end. He looked directly at the window we were standing in, smiled his beautiful smile, and waved farewell!

Like idiots, we all waved back! Suddenly we realized the cableman had been very aware of everything that had gone on in my living room! (Since when did cable guys get so darn smart!) My oldest daughter collapsed into the easy chair, fanning herself and wiping the drool from her chin. My youngest daughter was at the window, face plastered against the glass, taking deep breaths. And me? Well, I'm already composing a letter to the executives at the local cable station. I want them to know how much I appreciate their hiring procedures!

Copyright 1999 Moxie Magazine All Rights Reserved