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ExamForce :: Article Archive :: Newsletter Article
 The Cert Times: IT Edition Article Archive
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| Oh how Quaint, the Shopkeeper's Tone Implied (B1N@RY N@T10N (A.J. Axline)) |
Oh how Quaint, the Shopkeeper's Tone Implied
"No," I said, using what I consider to be my most patient voice, "that's not what I want."
"But, this is the best mobile phone on the market!" the salesperson who I had (just moments ago) given the name 'Phone Kiosk Ass Bandit' told me, waving a shiny piece of electronics in my face. Normally, my response to such an action varies from craven want to Pavlovian credit card retrieval, but I was resolved on this issue.
Once more into the breach, I thought.
"I'm sure that the model you're holding is a wonderful phone," I said placatingly. "A marvel of phones. The paragon of phonekind. However, it is not the phone I'm looking for."
PKAB's face curled into a plump, fleshy mask of puzzlement. "But this phone--"
"--plays MP3s, WMAs, Flash movies, and 1200 different ring tones running the spectrum from beloved classical themes from history's greatest composers, to fart noises from the wacky masters of the 'Jackass' cinematic franchise," I recited. "It takes pictures, records short movies, and has a karaoke function. It slices, dices, and makes Julien fries while tracking your appointments on a Julian calendar. It has Bluetooth, 802.11g, USB, PC, OS X compatibility, and can communicate with the dead. It takes SD, CF, EI-EI-O. It has more storage space than most loft apartments. If Alexander Graham Bell were to lay his eyes upon this phone (patently impossible because even a zombie Alexander Graham Bell would no longer have its eyes), he would drop to his knees and worship it as a god. And undoubtedly, like all innovative products, it vibrates."
"It does," PKAB said happily.
It was too early in the conversation for a deep breath. I took a medium one.
"If I were to record this moment as an episode of Schoolhouse Rock, I would title it 'Convergence Submergence.' It would have a playful, melodic song that, while amusing and entertaining, would be underscored by a moral lesson of why convergence for the sake of convergence is just as egregious as technology for the sake of technology, or gorgonzola cheese for the sake of gorgonzola cheese, particularly just because you happen to be in a small town near Milan," I said.
PKAB's face pulled up like a Magic Slate, and what I had attempted to write upon it vanished with a despairing ripping sound.
"What?" PKAB asked.
I took a deep breath.
"I want a phone," I said. "A phone. Just a phone. One that can be used to phone people. No text messages, no sign language, no semaphore flags rendered in 64,400 beautiful colors. I want a phone that makes telephone calls... and that's it. No music. No video. No pictures. No corkscrew, nail scissors, or spork. No Geiger counter. No GPS system. I want what Kirk Douglas would refer to as 'a goddamned phone'."
I watched PKAB struggle with it, like a salmon struggling to get to the underwater version of Blueberry Hill. For a moment, I thought he had a shot at it. I really did. But after a good thirty seconds of conflict, his face folded like a circus tent from when circuses used tents, which they (generally speaking) don't use anymore, so I'm sorry I took you down this road, but there we are.
"But, I don't--" PKAB began to say.
"I know you don't," I interrupted. "Let's spare ourselves any further unnecessary dialogue. Do you in fact, at the risk of introducing a second cheese reference into our tête-à-tête, have any phones in this shop that are just phones?"
He circled around, looking at the gleaming devices nestled in their lucite displays under the glass counter.
"No, not as such," he replied.
"Not much demand for it?" I asked with the sympathy of Fagin.
(If you chuckled just then, it's because you are one of two types of people. I leave it to the universe to offer you benefits and pitfalls based on which of the two types you are.)
"Not around these parts," PKAB replied.
Vector was in the living room watching something with midgets in it when I arrived home. I located a lonely $20 bill in my front pocket and threw it into his lap.
"Bet or no bet, I'm still right," I said sourly.
"Hm hmm. Whatever, grandpa," Vector murmured.
A.J. Axline
B1n@ry N@t10n
A.J. Axline is the person responsible for Closet Universe, and still remembers what "to wind a watch" means.
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Posted by
nam on 27/10/2006 17:06 |
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