• Dave Alexander

The Shaft

It was rock bottom for me. Overflowing with rage, I stumbled towards the freshly installed cable unit with my sledgehammer raised. Revenge was imminent. I was finally going to show AT&T who’s boss.


“Those things have a lot of electricity in ’em” shouted my electrician neighbor from across the yard. I collapsed on the grass trembling in frustration. Exhausted from the barrage of conflict over the past several weeks, I was having a breakdown. “Is revenge on AT&T worth dying for?” I pondered as flashbacks of my two month relationship with the cable company raced through my head. I faded from consciousness.

Our relationship had begun with so much hope and anticipation. I was finally getting over a tumultuous affair with Comcast and was ready for a fresh start. But things had soured quickly.


The internet didn’t work from day one. They wouldn’t fix it, but they wouldn’t let me out of my contract either. After 342 hours on the phone (mostly on hold), the cable stopped working, they over-billed me again, and the internet was still out.

Frustration and helplessness led me to dedicate an entire week to meeting with consumer attorneys. I told them I would devote unlimited time and money to do whatever it takes to bring justice to these bastards. Nobody would take my case.

Armed with my phone, a 12-pack and a wide open Saturday afternoon, I hit speed dial to get AT&T back on the line. “This time I’m going to talk to a real manager,” I convinced myself.


It was about that time when the utility truck pulled up. With “on-hold” music streaming through my ear buds, I watched in disbelief as five muscular men pulled into the grass and unloaded their shovels. I was frozen as they dug a coffin-sized trench and then planted a giant green shaft right in the middle of my yard.

“Are you going to replace the grass?” was the only full sentence I was able to string together. “Someone else is in charge of that” mumbled one of the guys as he placed an AT&T sticker onto the shaft and drove away.


That was the point where I lost all control. I grabbed my sledgehammer. “The entire neighborhood is about to see me have a meltdown” was the last thought I remember before I woke up face-down in the yard. “Are you alright?” inquired a neighbor standing over me.


“Yes,” I said. “I had a beautiful dream. There was a white light, and then a bushy paradise appeared before me.” He looked shocked to see that all my anger and hatred had dissipated. I sprinted into the house to transcribe the dream.

The manifestation of what transpired that day can only be described as a miracle. Bushy Box was created the next day.



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