This was the definition of hell.

The automated phone system was little more than a recorded voice taunting him. Thank you for calling Satellite TV. Please state your reason for calling. "Technical," Hank said. You said Billing. If this is correct say yes. If this is not correct say no and try again.

"No! I said technical!"

Please hold. A representative will be with you shortly.

Hank spent approximately 32 minutes listening to 27 second intervals of easy listening music interrupted by advertising for Satellite TV. The sound crackled as if broadcast over a radio which had been run over by a semi in the rain and pieced back together by a chimpanzee. The doctor was developing a headache. It was not until moments after the audio ADD had become mostly unbearable that Hank heard a ring tone, followed by a man's voice with near monotone unenthusiasm and a thick foreign accent.

"Thank you for calling Satellite TV. My name is Bob. May I have the name on the account, please?"

"Charles Xavier."

"Thank you, Charles. May I have the password on the account, please?"

Hank did not bother to correct the customer service representative. He already felt deflated by the long wait to speak to a human being and wanted to put this all behind him before anyone in the house discovered that their resident genius had had to call technical support to fix the cable. The password was wisely established during the days when Xavier's estate had been a school to prevent teenagers from ordering late night adult pay-per-view movies.

"Mach GoGoGo," answered Hank.

"Alright, how may I help you today Charles?"

"All the tv screens in the house say Searching for Satellite Signal, code 771 and I've already reset the receivers with the red reset button, checked the cables to the multi-switch--"

"I am sorry, Charles, but this is the Billing Department. Let me transfer you to the technical support department so that we may resolve your issue."

This time when Hank was placed on hold he had the good sense to pick up a biography of Carl Stiner, find a comfortable chair and distance the phone at least two inches away from his ear to keep from going mad. After one mistransfer, another wait and two books later Hank was finally on the phone with technical support, this time from a young sounding American girl who obnoxiously chewed gum while speaking.

"Thank you for calling Satellite TV. My name is Unique. May I have the name on the account?"

"Charles Xavier. The password is Mach GoGoGo."

"Thank you, Mr. Xavier. How can I help you today?"

"I'm getting a Searching for Satellite Signal message on every television in the house. I tried reseting a couple of the receivers, I checked the cabling from the multi-switch and--"

"Are you getting any severe weather in your area?"

"No."

"Have you had any power outages lately?"

"No."

"Okay, I'm going to do a little research for you. Do you mind if I place you on hold? Thanks."

Click. Before Dr. McCoy could protest the mus-advertisements were back. Hank took the cordless phone and gnawed on it, suppressing the urge to scream. His teeth mashed random buttons and the phone protested loudly in various pitched beeps. This continued until a surprised sounding Unique came back on the line.

"...Are you still there, Mr. Xavier?"

"Yes," he said flatly.

"Okay. If it's happening on all your screens," she said, obviously half-reading from a script on her computer, "then it's probably an issue with the cabling or the dish on your house. Are you sure there isn't any snow on your dish or maybe some new construction blocking it or something?"

Hank paused and wondered if he should maybe have a talk with Jono.

"Yes, I'm sure," he finally replied.

"Oh. Well then it's probably the cabling."

"I checked that."

"Well, then the dish is out of alignment. I could send a technician to the house. It'll cost $89.85 but he can go up on the roof and realign it for you."

"No, I'm sure I can manage if you can give me some instruct--."

"Oh, okay." Unique released the call.

Hank sighed.