Love, Hate & Retaliation

It looks like you have some issues with AOL, the young man in the white shirt, narrow tie and Buddy Holly glasses says to me as he peers at my laptop and scrolls randomly.  For $199, our tech support.....

Has hell frozen over? I interrupt him, Because only then will I spend one more dime on this piece of...I remember that I'm in a public place and manage to check myself.  Let me put it another way, I say more calmly, I'm sure I've made worse decisions in my life but off hand, except for the time, money, heartache and grief of my second husband, I can't think of one at the moment.

He looks at me as if I've lost my mind then manages a weak smile.  He doesn't ask for details.

Thanks anyway, I mutter, But I'd rather throw it in the damn river. Do I owe you anything?

Wisely, he shakes his head and I close the cover on the Hated Device and leave.  It takes a fair amount of discipline to resist the urge to throw it as hard as I can onto the pavement of the parking lot - I can't shake the  idea of how satisfying it would be to run it over - would that I had a tank or better yet a sub machine gun, I could put an end to it forever, although a sledge hammer would do.  No mercy, I snarl at it and throw it none too gently onto the car seat thinking vaguely that if I didn't lock the car I might get lucky and someone would steal the despicable piece of crap.  

Some of us are meant to embrace technology and progress - I, on the other hand, reject it with every fiber of my being.  I return home, still fuming, and take a long look at my desktop, a reasonably reliable and more or less stable piece of machinery that I've come to depend upon and almost trust.  I tell myself it has no feelings and is not plotting against me but, considering it's still a distant cousin to the detestable laptop, I remain cautious.  Unlike the Hated Device, I don't suspect it can read my thoughts, but I still feel the need to warn it in the event it's thinking about developing issues of its own - I've heard stories about retaliation and know in my heart that any collection of metal and hot wire and diodes is more than capable of not just vengeance but out right sabotage.

You're not a roomful of roses either, I remind it mildly, You'd better watch yourself.

It looks back impassively.

Well, alrighty then, I say, As long as we understand each other.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, the Hated Device sits on the kitchen table and sulks.  I'm not completely sure but I think I hear it whispering to itself.  Feeling vindictive, I snatch it's power cord out and remove it's battery, leaving it lifeless and impotent and alone.  It's more than it deserves.  Come Monday, I may take it for repair or I may not.  In the meantime, accidents do happen.