Dreamstime
For a couple of weeks last fall, I received robocalls from the power company about the new smart meters their contractor would be installing. “Workers will be in your neighborhood,” a voice declared. “Please be sure any gates are unlocked and dogs are secured …”
It’s been a few years since I first heard about those meters — electronic gadgets touted to give more accurate accounts of how much electricity we use. They sparked quite a controversy as irate folks wrote testy letters to the editor. Seems the naysayers didn’t want the smart meters, didn’t need ’em, didn’t trust ’em. But as sometimes happens with small controversies, bigger ones rear their heads, and that one eventually died away.
One morning when I was outside watering the front yard, a vehicle pulled up at the curb and a young man emerged. “I’m here to install your smart meter,” he said, showing his ID with a smile and a nod.
I thanked him, went on with my watering, then left the house to run an errand or two. I returned to find the man had gone and a card was tucked inside my storm door. In bold print were the words “INSTALLATION UNSUCCESSFUL” — no reason given. I called the number on the card, more out of curiosity than disappointment. A woman on the line told me, “I can’t say why it failed.” I didn’t much like that word failed, but I let it go. “I’ll try to find out and get back to you.” She never did.
A week or two passed, and another young man appeared at my front door. Pleasant, neat, eager to please: “I’m here to install your smart meter!”
I told him about the last attempt and the message left on the card.
“I’ll get that fixed for you, ma’am!”
“All righty then.”
A few minutes later he was back at my door, crestfallen. “Can’t do it, ma’am. Can’t get the old meter off. Seems you’ve got a bolt through that meter.”
“A bolt?”
“Yes, ma’am. I took a picture of it.” He showed it to me and beamed when I said, mainly to be kind, “Well, that’s real good.”
“Gonna show it to my supervisor, gonna get that bolt out for you.”
Two more weeks passed and here came another cheerful fellow who said to call him Kevin. “I’m here to install your smart meter.”
“Good luck with that,” I told Kevin. He didn’t ask why he’d need it.
But soon he was back saying, “You’ve got a bolt through that meter.”
“So I’ve heard.” And I advised him of the previous attempts to remove the old meter. “Can you not get the bolt out?”
“No ma’am. But I took a picture of it,” and he showed me an image of himself staring at the meter looking concerned, even a bit sad. “Gonna show it to my supervisor.”
“Nice touch, that selfie,” I said, thinking my bolt-ridden meter already boasted quite a little photo gallery. “Let’s walk around here so I can see it.”
Sure enough, underneath the plastic dome was the infamous metal rod securing the time-worn gadget they wanted to replace. “Wonder why that’s in there,” I asked. Just then he snapped a photo of me. “No sir, delete that,” I told him. How I despise those cell-phone close-ups with my nose like a zucchini and eyelids drooping to my chin. “Delete it now.”
“Yes ma’am” — and I watched as he obeyed. “I just thought my supervisor might appreciate the personal touch, seeing the customer and how much she wants our smart meter.”
A few hours later I received a call from a man who identified himself as Kevin’s supervisor. He said, “Ma’am, I understand you have a bolt through your meter.” By then, the phrase echoed through my mind like a rock song. My head bobbed a little to the beat. “Well, we’re gonna take care of that for you. I’ll be sending you a form to complete about how that bolt came to be there.”
“You’re gonna do . . . what? But I don’t have a clue how it got there!”
“Just complete the form, ma’am, the best you can.” And he hung up. I never got a form.
Later I asked a few people if they have a smart meter and, if so, could they tell any difference in their bill. One friend said she had one, but no, her bill was about the same. Another said, “Yeah, I think I do. What does it look like?” As if I would know!
The other night an old Cheers rerun was on TV and my attention was caught by the chatter at the bar. Norm, Cliff, and Woody were actually discussing bolts, not in utility meters but in the floor of the Boston Garden where the Celtics play. Apparently that floor was secured with thousands of bolts, and those wacky guys left their barstools and headed out to count them.
A day or so later — a few months after the robocalls started coming — I got to thinking about the meter and I went out to the side of the house. Kinda like Norm and the gang, I couldn’t get that bolt off my mind. What I expected to see was that same old meter pierced to the wall. But lo and behold! There in its place was a fine new high-tech job labeled a Smart Grid, apparently installed one day when I wasn’t home. And without so much as a card in my storm door declaring “installation successful”! Gee, I’d have thought after the dead-ends Kevin and his cohorts kept hitting, they’d have been crowing over finally making me smart, probably even filming a YouTube video insisting that I star in it.
And what if I’d called the company to complain that I was still waiting for my upgrade? Why, they may have signed me up for a stupid meter.
Well, I’m glad it’s done. And if I should ever see any of those bright-eyed young men again I’ll thank them for not giving up. I’ll also ask them, “Just where is my bolt?”
Marilyn Sadler is a former senior editor of Memphis magazine. She has not yet counted the bolts in the floor of FedExForum.
