Here’s an article I wrote a little while ago and submitted to some places but none of them bit. Jokes on them, because now I get to have it here on my own shiny website. Enjoy!
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said in a way that made it sound like he wasn’t sorry at all “but there’s nothing we can do for you.”
I held the phone away from me so that he wouldn’t hear me make that noise that you make when you’re super frustrated with someone and trying your hardest not to go apeshit at them.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re telling me that it’s impossible for me to get the Internet connected, in spite of the fact that a) I live one suburb away from the city and b) it’s the year two thousand and ten.”
“I’m afraid that’s correct.”
“There must be some mistake.”
“I’m afraid there’s not.”
“You seem to be afraid of a lot of things.”
“I don’t understand”
I held the phone away from my face as I made the noise again.
“It’s been three months since my cousin and I moved into this house. Three months without the Internet. You know what I do when I get home each day? I read. I draw. I talk to my cousin about my day. I get work done”
“At least you’re being more productive. That must be satisfying.”
“Well, it’s not. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be living in two thousand and ten and go a whole week without seeing a single video of a cat doing something?”
“Are you sure you’re not over-reacting? Its only the Internet”
“I feel like I can’t connect with anyone anymore. I don’t have any idea what’s happening in the world, because I can’t access Twitter.”
“That’s a very Generation Y thing of you to say.”
“I am Generation Y. Of course it’s a Generation Y thing of me to say. What’s your point?”
“I don’t know. Can’t you just use the free wireless at the local library or something?”
“I’ve tried, but their wireless is so slow that I swear it’s being powered by a bird on a treadmill, Flintstones-style. I don’t see why it has to be this hard. How come Jessica Watson can send a blog from the middle of the ocean, but I can’t log on to Mafia Wars from the middle of Carlton?”
“What’s Mafia Wars?”
“It’s just this game on Facebook. I’ve never even played it. I just used it as a reference to make my point sound more dynamic and culturally relevant.”
“Think about what’s really important here. Like your friends in the real world.”
“The ‘real world’ doesn’t want anything to do with you unless you’re digitally cutting a rug.”
“I have no idea what you just said. I told you earlier, I’m not very good with slang lexicon.”
I paused and mentally debated his claim. I had no recollection of him ever saying that, and it seems like something that I would definitely remember.
“I caught up with a group of friends at a birthday party the other week, and they had a forty five minute conversation about a friend’s recent Facebook status while I sat there contributing nothing, and somehow I LOOKED LIKE THE IDIOT!”
“I really don’t know what to say.”
My vision started to go blurry. I checked my watch and realised I’d been on the phone for half an hour. I took a deep breath and tried one last emotional appeal.
“I can’t help but feel like you’re somehow stitching me up here. I remember seeing ads for your company in the 90’s, where a voiceover reassured me that ‘the future was coming.’ Well guess what – the future is apparently here, and it seems to me that in many ways, it’s a lot more restrictive and complicated than it needs to be.”
“I’m terribly sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for you” he said, sounding even less convincing about being sorry than he did before.