The Old Coot talks to his refrigerator.
By Merlin Lessler
I talked to my refrigerator the other day, I hadn’t closed
the door properly. It beeped and I ran back, shut it, said, “Thank you.” The refrigerator
didn’t say anything. Not, “You’re welcome,” or “No problem.” Nothing! Later, it
was the microwave. I hadn’t taken out my warmed up cup of coffee. After a
minute or so it Buzzed, reminding me. Again. And, then again. Finally, I took
the cup out and said, “Thank you.”
I’ve talked to my TV and radio for years. Sometimes yelling,
but that was only when a newscaster inserted their political opinion into the
report. I yell at football players and golf pros on TV too, when they fumble or
miss a three foot putt. But more and more, it’s my appliances talking to me. Even
“Alexa” gets on my case, saying there is a package on the porch.
Our gas range invades our TV screen, announcing that the
oven is up to temperature. Cars have gone even further, quietly making us
obsolete, pulling us back into our lane to avoid a sideway crash or slowing us
down when on cruise control, to prevent a rear end collision. Nice features, I
guess, but little by little they are making us lazy and dependent. Eventually,
they will move us to the passenger seat.
I’m not sure where I’m headed with this diatribe, but I’d
like to make a few modifications to the inanimate things that talk to, and
assist me. Like, the refrigerator, to let me know when the snicker bar shelf is
almost empty, or that the milk is about to turn sour. But, most of all, that my
supply of emergency pizza slices in the freezer compartment need replenishing.
Snickers and pizza, that’s all I need to survive an anxiety
situation. I keep up with it myself, at the moment, but could use a little
help. It won’t be long before the fridge gives me an inventory whenever I walk
by. I can’t wait; it’s getting harder and harder to yank open today’s heavy
refrigerator doors to do it myself.
Comments? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com
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