You know that popular saying, “Women: Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em?” Well it no longer applies to females. I think a more correct statement is “Technology: Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.” If I had to choose a new, more accurate slogan for the opposite sex, these would be my following choices:
A) “Women: You're all fucking crazy.”
B) “Women: Without you, who’d buy Sex and The City DVDs?”
C) “Women: Please show me your boobies.”
Back to technology. In the past few days, it has trapped me in Las Vegas, utterly wasted my Monday night, and destroyed my beer.
Sunday afternoon found me in an America West plane roaring down the runway as it prepared to take off from Vegas. As it rapidly accelerated, the jet hit the required speed to go airborne. But instead of leaving the ground completely, as decent airplanes are supposed to do, it suddenly jolted back to the ground. Our bodies jerked forward as the pilot slammed the brakes down to the nub to make sure we didn’t skid right off the runway. This caught everybody so completely off-guard that nobody made a single sound when it happened, except a baby whose scream pierced the stunned cabin.
“This is the captain speaking. There’s no reason to be alarmed. You're alive, aren't you? So just sit back and chill, bitches.” Actually I don't remember what he said.
I turned to the woman sitting next to me, who, judging by the look on her face, was unattractive.
“Oh great, now I’ve lost my place in my book,” I remarked. She stared at me with a grimace, which strangely made her look better.
As a result of the abrupt stop, the plane had blown a tire and cooked its brakes. It couldn't even make it back to the airport, so they sent buses out on the runway to fetch us. Because all the remaining flights out of Vegas were completely full, we couldn’t fly out ‘til Monday. People were screaming bloody murder, and who could blame them? America West has some pretty shitty customer service. Luckily for them, I’d unexpectedly won money that weekend, so I was in a good mood. That is until I found out they were housing us at the Doubletree, located in some remote spot way outside the Strip where the Mafia probably buried their bodies.
I wasn’t spending my extra night in Vegas stuck in a hotel filled with pissed-off people in the middle of ass-raping nowhere. I was going to spend it the proper way - getting drunk off comped drinks while sitting by myself at a blackjack table. So a portion of my winnings went to getting a room at New York New York in which, given my 5:30 AM wake-up call, I spent a grand total of three hours.
Monday night my PC automatically downloaded the latest update from Microsoft for Windows XP. When I restarted my computer, Microsoft worked its wonderful magic: Windows wouldn’t open.
Instead of driving to Bill Gates' house and keying his car, I briefly fantasized about a computer-free existence in a tropical paradise devoid of any technology. I'd still update my Livejournal, of course: I'd just write my entries on sea shells, which would then be flown to you inside the beak pouches of trained pelicans.
As I spent my 23rd minute on hold with Microsoft’s tech support, I wondered why technology had turned against me. Was it getting back at me for verbally abusing my cell phone battery? I’d called it a “worthless piece of lithium-ion shit” in Vegas. And just the other day I’d bitch-slapped my TiVo for failing to record the final minute of “Scrubs.”
Because bad things tend to happen in threes (with the exception being threesomes, and the Lord of the Rings trilogy), I came to work this morning and discovered that my art director and I had been awarded two cases of Corona by our agency. But, while carrying my 12-pack of beer in the elevator, the Interactive Group Director dropped the whole thing when he tried to push a button, smashing one of the bottles in the process. I now have eleven sticky bottles of Mexican beer sitting at my desk as a harsh reminder of the wrath of our “friend”, technology.
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