Hustler TV is



Pornographic. . .

with naked bodies filling the screen


Though I’m not a fan of formulaic Hallmark movies, I’m more a wholesome-romance-kind-of-woman than the sex-crazed hussies and high-libido men featured on the Hustler Channel.  If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know I post literary stuff, poetry, family stories laced with sacred texts, not sex. The scenes of most of my posts take place in the kitchen, not the bedroom.

One Saturday late in January after scrutinizing my Aunt Ruthie’s teenage diary for way too long, I needed a change. So, closing the pages detailing the life of a virtuous young woman of the 1930s, I decide I need to zone out with a movie. “Maybe I can find one on the Paramount channel,“ I mused. Guessing the three channel numbers for a movie as I punched in the channel, my eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when I beheld the images on a station I never intended. How did that happen? On my way to find entertainment, I must have scrambled three numbers for Paramount and landed on a sex-saturated site. Oh, my blessed word! I was horrified.

Horrified, I panicked! “I have to get out of this—and quick!” Apparently, my fat fingers flew too fast to change channels. So, instead of pressing the back button, as I intended, I must have clicked OK.

“OKAY? NO-No! It’s NOT okay! I” fumbled some more and sealed my fate ending up with a 6-hour $14.99 + tax charge to lurid bedroom scenes sponsored by the likes of Larry Flynt, whose lair of Las Vegas strip clubs, bars and adult novelty shops promote raw sex.



The Damage

Now I have to get my husband involved. I can’t call or “chat” with our provider because I’m not listed as primary of the account. Cliff initiated our internet/TV/phone subscription. The account is in his name, so he has to authorize changes. I can’t fix the error myself. Woe is me!

Thus begins Cliff’s challenge to contact Comcast. He begins with a nine-minute conversation with one agent, who assures him that he will solicit the help of another agent. “Expect a return call in 45 minutes, to authorize a refund,” the rep assures him. The call never comes.

Soon after, Cliff makes another attempt. Five times he is hung up on. He tried leaving a voice message to no avail. Finally, he yells, “Cancel service,” into his phone, which gets a rise out of someone at the other end. At last, he speaks to a LIVE person for 23 minutes. Friendly and cooperative, this rep initiates a refund and sends him a confirmation email. “You should notice a credit on the next bill,” he assures my  husband. We’ll see. . . .

Mennonite girls don’t like to be a bother. Not even even former Mennonite girls. Cliff spent his precious time righting a wrong not even his fault. Bless him!


Pixabay free image


The Upshot

I am no prude. After all, I am a married woman who has birthed two children and subscribe to the message of Hebrews 13:4. Yes, as an English major, I know the themes of  Nabokov’s Lolita and J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. Nevertheless, Playboy bunnies and flaming floozies are not my thing, as you may well imagine. And I’m not tempted to begin being a voyeur at this stage of life.

And so, I muse about safeguards to avoid future snafus, “Maybe we should banish the TV all together.” Some people get along just fine without a television in the house. I certainly didn’t grow up with one. And, knowing my proclivity for faulty fingering, maybe I should enable a “BLOCK” setting or use a filter. Or, install parental controls.

In retrospect, I could have just used the “audio” feature on the remote to find the channel I intended. “Audio” would have even succeeded in changing the channels when I first saw my mistake, but that’s all water under the bridge now. Besides, it’s not the worst thing in the world.

And I wouldn’t have this story to share either!



Do you have a story similar to mine? 

Has something you’ve done ended up inconveniencing another person?