We’ve had- shall we say- a very small town Texas kind of week.

The local water company and the Internet provider found themselves locked in a standoff over new rental rates for an antenna mounted on the town’s water tower. So late last Wednesday night, the water board convened and decided the most reasonable solution was… to pull the plug on the internet entirely. No warning to their shared customers. No warning to the Internet company. And this decision was made just hours before a historic ice storm was set to roll into town.

The Internet company, attempting diplomacy, suggested everyone put on their “get-along shirts” and even offered to pay the hookup fee to have the antenna reconnected so the good people of Scurry, Texas could have reliable internet while bracing for what was predicted to be a storm for the record books. Being a rural area, cell service is already spotty on a good day—making this less an inconvenience and more of a genuine safety concern.

The water department refused.

So the WiFi company scrambled. They found a kind neighbor with a tower willing to temporarily host the antenna and dispatched a technician to adjust customers’ equipment so we could receive the new signal. In the process of heroically trying to restore our internet, he slid into our mailbox and obliterated it.

To his credit, the technician- let’s call him Jace- came straight to the door, owned his mistake, and even asked to take a piece of brick with him so he could match it for the repair.

Thus, we spent the week without WiFi… and without a mailbox.

Fast forward to today.

For the first time in a week, the roads are finally clear. The Internet company called to let us know Jace would be out in the morning to take care of it.

“Which one?” I asked.

“Well… both,” came the reply.

I paused, trying to picture an Internet technician who also moonlights as a skilled brick and stone mason. Assured that he could handle it, we set the appointment. When I hung up, my husband and I exchanged a look of deep skepticism.

“I don’t think you understand,” my son said solemnly.

“That dude can get the job done. He is cornbread-fed.”

So… we shall see.