or read on…
A phone is ringing somewhere in the house, but I can’t find it. Sounds a little muffled and a bit other-roomish, so I’m scrounging around, hoping to answer it before I lose the caller.
I feel about under sofa cushions and beneath the armoire and move things around on the coffee table (I don’t drink coffee, so why do I call it that?), scan the foyer, look for lumps in the rugs and comforters, check jacket pockets, and…well, you may be familiar with the routine. I don’t find the phone, so it’s adrift until I get another call, or until—wait! It suddenly occurs to me why I bother to own both a cell phone and a wireless landline phone. Two systems exist for the sole purpose of each finding the other.
I go to the car, fetch the phone, call the home number, go back into the house and renew my efforts to trace the ringing to its source.
How much of my time is spent in endeavors such as this each and every week of my life?
Furthermore, why have Liz and I invested in a remarkably dangerous wireless can opener that manages to stop halfway through the procedure for which it exists, leaving can and opener inextricably linked so that hammer and wrench and crowbar and profanity in no way separate them? I eventually give up and toss the wedded can and opener into the trash, all the while wishing I had the excess energy required to ship both back to the factory, fishy smell and all.
And why do I own an automobile whose manufacturer has cleverly installed an intricate and incredibly expensive-to-repair door-security system? All I need is a lock and a key, not some geek-invented$600 gadget that sucks money from my pocket and deposits it into a Detroit bank account should it fail to operate.
And so on.
Solutions are easy to each of these problems: the unlocate-able phone, the non-nourishing can-eating opener and the electronic metal escape-proof collar that is a car door lock. They are easy to fix, just unfashionable and unsightly.
1. I’ll attach a long, permanent rope to each home phone, so that I can mountain-climb horizontally till I locate its receiver.
2. I’ll pull out my Swiss Army Boy Scout pocketknife and stab open my next can of beans.
3. I’ll attach a padlock to the car door, bypassing the electric marvel that seeks to control my time and my life.
There must be some unattractive but wise solution to many of life’s daily pains, and you don’t have to be a redneck to achieve closure.
All you really need is a hairpin, some duct tape, bungee cords, scissors, pliers, screwdriver and a few other Luddite tools to take control once again of a life gone techno
(c) 2012 A.D. by Jim Reed