"Now just reboot your computer, and we'll see if that fixed it." The technician on the phone who was talking me through my computer e-mail problems was so patient and helpful.
But as my computer slowly chugged and ticked back to life, we found ourselves suffering through awkward silence.
On a whim, I asked the technician if he would mind singing some elevator music to get us through the seemingly endless, uncomfortable moment as we waited for my computer to restart. I expected a polite chuckle, but without answering, my cable guy erupted into song: "Jeremiah was a bullfrog! Nah-nah-nah. Was a good friend of mine. Nah-nah-nah. Never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine ..."
Through the receiver I could hear the chuckling of his office mates, but my cable guy continued undaunted, only breaking in at one point to defend himself to his colleagues with, "She asked for this! I'm just providing good customer service."
Before the serenade ended, my computer had restarted, and we were back to diagnosing the last remaining problems.
At my final reboot and extended silence, I didn't even have to ask. My ever-thoughtful cable guy seamlessly moved from conversation into song and, switching genres, began twittering in Julie Andrews falsetto, "The hills are alive with the sound of muuuusic. Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh."
I've often wondered if the cable company happened to record our "jammin' " help session to help train other operators in the art of providing good customer service. But since then - in all my hours being stuck on the phone with telephone operators - no one has yet offered to sing me elevator music quite like that.