Kill your Television, by Rob Krider

When my wife and I got married, one of our first purchases as a new couple was a big-screen TV: 27 glorious inches of color. Nowadays, people have bigger televisions in the dashboard of their cars. But back then, our neighbors were all envious, because we had the biggest television in our apartment complex. Course, when we bought the TV, we didn't have enough money between us to split a venti mocha at Starbucks, but we did have a credit card, and that is almost like money.

Eight years later, I still have the same TV, and I still have the same credit card, along with its friend, continuing balance. Eight years and 96 minimum payments later, I've probably paid for the TV 4 times already but for some reason I'm still paying for it. I don't get upset due to the fact that I am terrible at math, therefore the numbers don't mean anything to me. All I care about is that the TV works and I get to watch "Monster Garage" and the occasional B-movie with a good car chase.

The TV worked flawlessly for years, aside from the seven remotes controls, which were tragically and suspiciously lost. Wal-Mart sells universal remotes for 7 bucks a piece. I usually bought three at a time. I put them on the credit card, too.

The TV started acting up about 2 years ago, but it wasn't anything serious. I could still watch reruns of "Charles in Charge." It was just when you turned the TV off, it wouldn't turn off. My wife wanted a new TV I told her that was ridiculous, and I fixed the little problem with a surge protector. When you were done watching television, you just flipped the switch on the surge protector and the TV was essentially unplugged, which turned it off. The problem was solved for 10 bucks. No new TV needed.

A year later, the TV picture occasionally disappeared, which caused my wife to say, "I told you we needed a new TV." I found that if you jiggled the cable, the picture came back. That worked for about a month until the cable assembly in the back of the TV came out completely. This was probably due to excessive jiggling. A quick trip to Radio Shack, and I was back on the couch after installing a converter from coaxial cable to the three audio/video inputs on the back of the TV. Another disaster diverted, this time for only $5. My wife, whom I love, would have to wait for a new TV.

Then, a few weeks ago, the TV picture began to shrink to a blurry one inch line across the screen. I checked the connections and the power, and everything liked good. Finally, I smacked the side of the TV with my palm as hard as I could. Miraculously, the TV picture went back to normal. Problem solved and I didn't have to get out the credit card. The TV would go back to its one inch screen about every 10 minutes. You were guaranteed to lose the picture 6 seconds before a touchdown or near the end of an auto race.

Everyone in the house was becoming a pro at whacking the television. My 5-year-old daughter was the best at it. Her technique was to foolproof that I caught my wife crouched down on the floor in front of the TV, beating the hell out of it, trying to emulate our daughter's height.

We later learned that once the TV warmed up, the problem seemed to be less frequent. So the TV was left on 24/7 in fear that if it was shut off, it would never work again. This, I'll admit, was ironic, because the first problem with the TV was that it wouldn't turn off. Now we wanted it to stay on.

A week if the TV being on for 168 hours straight proved to be just another temporary fix. The one inch line came back, and we began to take our aggressions out on the TV again. The top right corner was my favorite spot to punch the set. My wife once again started in on my about a new TV. I once again ignored her and continued my ongoing boxing match with the boob tube.

Then the unthinkable happened. I was hitting the TV in its sweet spot when I heard a snap, a crackle, and then a pop. It wasn't a commercial for Rice Crispies-the television was dead. No trips of Radio Shack or Pep Boys were going to fix the TV. It was beyond even duct tape repair. Suddenly, the bigger picture became clear to me. The TV was a piece of junk. A piece of junk that had been nursed along by a guy who knew absolutely nothing about television repair. I was also a piece of junk that I was still paying 16 percent a month on.

I didn't mind paying when the TV worked, but suddenly I didn't have my magic window to the world: the world of reality TV. How would I know who lost the most weight? Or who got voted off? Or who got a new face? Or who ate the most South African worm spiders? The only reality for me then was the fact that I needed a new TV and was still paying compounded interest on a broken one. That reality show sucked.

My wife was happy though. A new TV was on the horizon-one that you didn't have to unplug to turn off, jiggle the cable to see the picture, of hit with a baseball bat to change the channel.

We got a brand new TV, with - what else? - our brand new credit card. Fiscal responsibility is not my middle name. While installing the new TV, before I could plug it in, my son walked up and began to push the buttons on the front. Nothing happened, so he stepped back, wound up, and smacked the side of TV. I've never been so proud of my boy. He is going to grow up to be a great man.

Rob wanted a plasma screen but realized he would be making minimum payments on it until he was 170. Copyright 2004.