We got a blog for non-techies,” Hickey tells me. “Yooooou should totally write about your experience with Clearwire.”I don’t want to write about my experience with Clearwire for the same reason Marsellus Wallace probably doesn’t want to write about getting butt-reamed by a hillbilly while a red rubber ball was strapped to his mouth.
That is to say, it’s personally embarrassing and just makes me angry. I feel violated. My family feels violated. Almost nothing good came out of this experience except for a free mouse — which of course was useless because I have a laptop. Clearwire turned me into an ogre. I need to drink malt liquor just to dull the ache. I have never been so filled with hate towards a faceless entity as I have as a customer of Clearwire Internet.
“Perfect!” Hickey says. “That’ll make a way-cool cautionary tale! It’d be like Upton Sinclair, except with better jokes and no salmonella! I’ll spring for the first 40 of St. Ides; just start typing, my little muckraker!”
