Everyone knows technology kills – just ask Oprah who’s always warning about the dangers of texting while driving, or anyone stuck behind some schmuck at a red light who’s too busy checking for updates on his fantasy football league to put his for-real foot on the for-real accelerator and get the heck out of the way.
Ok, so maybe I wouldn’t “kill” the dude, but I’ve entertained some pretty dark fantasies about dropping him (or her) into a bathtub full of hungry pirranah.
Technology can also be humiliating. And this is why I don’t deserve a Blackberry.
But having recently escaped from the abyss of our AT&T coverage and because My Lovely Wife got a discount through her work, before I knew it we were strutting out of the Verizon store with a matching set of Blackberry cell phones.
I’ve gotta admit, I felt pretty cool … till I noticed the 10-year-old girl standing next to me with the same model and the look in her eye screamed, “LAME!”
I was immediately obsessed with my new toy … for at least as long as it took for the first bill to arrive. I was spending formerly valuable family time choosing the ringtone that defined me as a person, searching for new apps, synching my email address and deciding who was worthy of be in my “Circle of Friends.”
That took way less time than I’m comfortable admitting.
But it wasn’t enough to have a factory-direct Blackberry. I wanted mine to be snazzy. I need a hard case, not only ‘cause it was cool, but ‘cause I have a tendency to drop it – not to mention having a child who likes to use the backlight to hunt for monsters and vampires (might be time to cut back on her Buffy the Vampire Slayer viewing via Netflix).
So to the mall I went.
The chic at the kiosk sized me up for a geek – edgy and ruggedly handsome (think Goose from “Top Gun”) but a geek just the same – and thus believed that being a bit flirty would make me more financially pliable.
I was eyeing the case covered with skulls but while pushing a buy-one-get-one-free deal, she had the audacity to call me “clean cut … not a skull kinda guy.”
“Yeah ,” I shouted, “you oughta see me with my shirt off.”
We just stared at each other. The mall fell deathly silent. Time stood still. Not only did I want to die, the salesgirl looked ready to kill me. Wanting the Earth to swallow me whole, I avoided eye contact while handing her my checkcard before skulking off to hide my shame behind a Cin-A-Bon the size of my head.
Normally, when a girl is flirting with me I hold up my wedding ring like a force field, shouting, “Keep away, evil temptress. I am married and love my wife. I shall not be poisoned by your wicked, forked tongue.”
I got mad game.
But for some reason, I spouted out something that sounded like a pick-up line straight from Jersey Shore. I was only referring to the various skull tattoos decorating myless-than- buff body that aren’t available for public viewing.
First thing I did was go home and confess my accidental transgression to My Lovely Wife who just laughed, knowing that there are some things that not even a Blackberry can fix.
Guess “cool” will have to wait ‘til I can afford an iPad
Contact Brett Buckner at firstname.lastname@example.org