Someday, I’ll be sitting in a home somewhere telling anyone who’ll listen—probably the maintenance guy adjusting my hover chair— how much I miss the smell and feel of a real newspaper.
The maintenance guy will look at me like I have two heads—which by then might not be out of the ordinary—and ask, “What’s a newspaper?”
And I’ll answer, waxing poetic, because I’m old and have the time…
“You know, a newspaper…black ink rubbing
off on your fingers, smearing all over your nose…the scent of cheap pulp mixing
with the aroma of your morning coffee…a newspaper.”
“Sounds messy,” Maintenance Guy
responds. He’s reattaching the tracking
transponder to my hover chair so the house staff will always know where I
am…you know, in case I wander off again…like the time I decided to organize a
trip to the casino next door, without authorization.
“Messy…messy? I guess, if you call getting all the latest
news right there at your fingertips messy…then I guess it was…messy.
But it was as natural as brushing your teeth in the morning…I suppose
you’d call that messy too?”
A smile lights across Maintenance Guy’s
face; a look of recognition as if he’d just figured out the answer to last
night’s Final Jeopardy—2054. (Good game shows never die).
“I know about brushing teeth…we
studied that in Med-School. Even saw some old toothbrushes and toothpaste tubes
in a museum once.
“In a museum, huh?”
“Uh, huh…I have the Virtual Museum
Maker 7.6 upgrade app, which is way better than—”
“Ever go to the real thing?”
Maintenance Guy points a laser threader
through a minuscule sprocket hole and spins it around in his hand.
“Once…in Law School. But I didn’t like it as much. They don’t let
you pick up the stuff and mess with it, or walk into the painting, like the
Museum Maker does. That van Gogh painting with all those stars is freaky when
you get in there, man.”
Maintenance guy suddenly stares off
into the distance; the personal communicator implanted directly onto some
portion of his brain at birth is in receiving mode. The blinking green light in
his right eye is a dead giveaway.
“Sorry…the latest traffic and weather
just came in….”
‘Going someplace?”
“I wish…I just like to keep
informed…up to date with what’s going on.
“So what’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing much…just a backup on the
cross-town skyway…again.”
“What’s the last thing you read?” I
ask, mostly because I’m nosey. Another perk of being old.
Maintenance Guy flips some sort of
gizmo over in his hand and slaps it into place.
“The manual on how to fix this old
hover chair of yours. Just downloaded it on the way in, actually.
“On the way in to work?” I ask.
“No, through the door.”
“Ahhhhhh…..”
“Ever read a novel…you know, one of
the classics?” I ask, again, out of curiosity.
“Oh sure…I’ve downloaded the whole
Stephen King collection.”
“How about something like
Melville’s ‘Moby Dick’…ever actually read
that…you know, from a real book?
Maintenance Guy just smiles, “Like
I could afford a real book…like I could even afford the admission to walk into
a real library club… a little above my pay level, dude.”
“Mine too”, I sigh. “Over
the pay level of 99.999% of us I’m afraid.”
“It’s not like those books grow on
trees or anything,” Maintenance Guy says.
“Nope…not any more.”
Maintenance Guy’s right eye begins
to blink green again.
“More traffic?” I ask.
“No I just downloaded Moby
Dick. Pretty cool, actually. I liked how
Melville employed stylized language,
symbolism, and metaphor to explore so many complex themes. The concepts of
class and social status, good and evil, and the existence of God. Really well done.”
My eyes widened. “You got all that in just a couple of seconds?”
Of course....I also enjoyed the anthropomorphic literary device he employed
throughout. Moby Dick is ruthless in
attacking the sailors who attempt to hunt and kill him, but it’s really Ahab
who invests Moby Dick's natural instincts with malignant and evil intent. In
fact, it is not the whale but the crippled Ahab who alone possesses these
characteristic…a lot like my boss, who’s gonna be on my case if I don’t get on
to my next work order. Mrs. Patterson’s virtual food metabolizer is on the
fritz. She say’s everything taste like
canned beans to her.”
“Hmmmmph,” I say. “I guess that’s appropriate since Mrs. Patterson looks
like a canned bean.”
Maintenance Guy chuckles. “You said
that…not me.”
He pushes the start button on the
hover chair and it immediately bobs up and off the floor.
“There, you go Mr. M, you’re all
set to go….”
“But you never really read it, did
you?” I say.
“How’s that?” Maintenance Guy looks bewildered. “Sure I did, I just told you what it was all
about.”
“But you never felt the pages slip between
your fingers…smelled the bookshelf dust as you turned the yellowed page, or even
felt the heft of it on your lap as you dozed off in front of a fire on a window
rattling, winter night.”
Maintenance Guy again looks at me
as if I have two heads.
“What’s that got to do with
reading?”
A wistful smile spreads across my
face. “Nothing, I suppose…anymore.”
“Maybe in the next upgrade,”
Maintenance Guy offers.
“Maybe….”
And with that, I pat the young man
on the back, plop down onto my hover chair and order it to take me to the
dining room.
It’s synti BLT and fries day….
I never like to be late for synti
BLT and fries day.
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Truly awesome! You've given us the opportunity to view the future through a funhouse mirror. Unique is what you are. And now you make me want to read Moby Dick again. Maybe. Probably not. Nope.
ReplyDeleteWell my mom’s been telling me since I was three I was one of a kind, but I never got the sense it was complimentary. Thanks, Joan.
ReplyDeleteI would pass on the Melville, myself.