Will This Confounded Thing Ever Work? Stay Tuned

Regular readers of this column know I’m not the type to complain. Management gave me this nice little office way back in the corner seven years ago and hasn’t spoken to me since. That’s fine. Did I insist that they paint the walls? Did I nag them for pictures to hang? Did I complain when they removed the guest sofa and put it in a conference room? Do I make a fuss every year when ants show up in my office?

Of course not. When you’re the strong, silent type, you don’t do things like that. You just do your job.

But there is one little matter I’ve brought to their attention over the years: I’d like to have a TV.

It’s not like I’m asking for the keys to a Rolls-Royce. We’re in the information business and we have televisions all over the newsroom. We have more TVs than pencils. Simply put, I want one.

The editor has one in his office. So does the managing editor, city editor and sports editor. Two photo editors have one each. Three other TVs adorn the photo desk. City desk editors have one, and another one is perched in the middle of the newsroom for all to see. An empty office where no one works has a TV in it. The copy editors have one and so does the art department. The library has one, as do the computer guys next door to me. Both editorial writers in the building have one, and there’s one in a conference room. Two others hang from the walls in the sports department. The other metro columnist for this edition has one in his office.

So over the years I’ve dropped hints. Without fail, those hints fell on deaf ears.

One of my hidden talents is to build myself into a state of righteous anger over the most insignificant thing. When properly motivated, I can build up quite a lather. So it went with the TV issue.

I convinced myself this past summer I had to have a TV in the office. Cynics would say my renewed interest coincided with the baseball season, but that’s not true. OK, it is true, but so what? So what if on a Friday night, when I’m sitting here trying to write a column, I should want to watch a little baseball?

In midsummer, I stepped up the campaign with my boss. “Why can’t I have a TV?” I asked. “Everybody else has one.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

In the past, that would have deterred me. Not this year. Instead of backing off, I kept up the pressure until, one day in August, he cracked--as I knew he would.

“I’d really like a TV,” I said.

You could say I caught him at a bad time. In the interest of accuracy, I must report that he cursed. In a flash, he dropped everything and stormed back into his office, unplugged his Sony and carried the TV into my office. He said something like, “You’ve got a TV. Now shut up.”

And just like that, after all those years, I had a TV.

Correction: I had a TV set. I plugged it in, connected the cable wire, flicked on the remote and . . . nothing. Nothing but snow on the screen.

“Uh, the TV doesn’t work,” I said to my boss. “Not my department,” he said.

I went to the correct department. “We’ll take care of it,” they said.

A couple of weeks passed. Still snowing on the TV screen. A colleague challenged my manhood and said I should call the cable company myself, have them hook it up, and then bill The Times.

Yeah, right.

August rolled into September. It became a pathetic daily ritual to turn on the set and await the non-reception, a mocking reminder of my lack of clout.

Realizing it didn’t take this long to wire Appalachia, about two weeks ago I decided to take a stand.

Without saying a word to my boss, I lugged the TV back into his office.

“What are you doing?” asked a disgruntled colleague, who had been patiently waiting over the weeks for the hookup so he could watch baseball too.

“I’m making a statement,” I said. The strong, silent type of statement.

Last week, the TV reappeared in my office. Chastened, my boss had the set returned to me. It still wasn’t working but a company electrician was testing wires when I got to work Monday morning. He confirmed that something was wrong with the cable hookup and promised to get to the bottom of it.

Late Friday, my boss and another friend stopped by before going home for the weekend. My friend had talked to the electrician, and my boss asked for a progress report. Somewhat sheepishly, my friend said the maintenance man told him other things “had a higher priority.” He and my boss exchanged glances, then left.

It’s now mid-October. The regular baseball season is over. The first round of the playoffs is history. They’re halfway through the league championships. The World Series begins in a week.

The Fall Classic is in full swing. Outside my office door, bright sunshine.

Inside, it won’t stop snowing.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821, by writing to him at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail at dana.parsons@latimes.com.