In 500... (or less)

The Tamer of Technology

George whacked the television remote into his palm as if the gesture would somehow exorcise the demons possessing it.

The buttons were still unresponsive. He pressed them frantically, pleading silently for the function of the remote to be restored. The game was about to start.

The "No Signal" message on the screen seemed to taunt him, a cruel reminder of the disconnect between his age and the technology he owned.

"Dammit," he mouthed, aware that his 3-year-old grandson, Brooks was playing in the next room. He shook the remote and hurled mental curses at it, ones that if said aloud, might cause a sailor to stare in disbelief. It was getting serious now.

He thought about calling for his wife, but could not bring himself to summon her. He was the man, he was the one who was supposed to be able to figure things out. She wouldn't be any help and would likely end up assigning him some sort of chore if he wasn't busy. He had to get this game on. Once he was plopped down in the recliner watching the game, his selective hearing would kick in. The game's announcers formed an impenetrable barrier through which nagging could not breach.

The television did not care. It responded with a cavalier "No Signal". George winced to control his billowing anger. He had checked the cables on the back of the television a dozen times already. This malfunction was inexplicable. 

He barged over to the teasing television to set it straight. George scraped at the sides of the set trying to locate the secret panel which housed the buttons to control the television without the remote. He remembered opening it once quite some time ago, but couldn't seem to find it.

"Where are ya? You stupid bastard," he said in low voice. His forehead was tingling as a vein began to surge forth. He located the panel and forcefully poked the Power button. Turning the computer off and back on usually fixed it and his cell phone. It couldn't hurt with the television.

He craned his neck to see the screen: "No Signal".

"No Signal!" he finally shouted, unable to stem the tide of rage building within him.

"What did you say, honey?" his wife called from the other room.

"Nothing, dear," he said, "just watching the game."

"What?" He could hear her footsteps, she was coming to find out his response. The situation was about to come to a head.

Brooks pulled on his grandfather's pant leg, stretching his little hand toward the remote.

"Lemme see, pap!"

George handled the child the remote out of pure desperation. He quickly formed a plan to blame the state of the television on his grandson. After all, the boy was holding the remote.

Brooks couldn't read, but he instinctively located the Input button and tapped it. The game roared to life, just as it was starting. 

"How did ya do that?"

"It's easy, pap."