Do pieces of electronics equipment undergo sympathetic experiences? For instance, does a coffee maker get sick when a smart phone dies? I ask this as part of a serious inquiry into the behavior of my coffee maker this morning. When I pushed the “brew” button, it bellowed with a sound like the noise made by an injured calf. Yesterday, my smart phone either died or went into a coma. I’ll take my cell phone in this afternoon for either an autopsy or a resurrection; inasmuch as I’m not a believer, I am not expecting a miracle today. Instead, I expect to be told I’ll need to relieve my bank account of several hundred dollars if I ever want to surf the web and text and talk on the phone from the same device again.
Though that is an upsetting thought, this morning’s distressing symptoms of illness from the coffee maker were even more terrifying. What if, unlike this morning, tomorrow the beast fails to recover from its ailment and, instead, succumbs to the heartache of losing its companion, the smart phone? The idea of waking to a dead coffee maker is almost too much to bear. I must admit an ugly truth. My bereavement would not arise from the machine’s demise but, rather, would spring from the empty space in my caffeine-starved gullet. That’s right, I would be more concerned about how the machine’s death affected me than about its passing. And in that way I am a clone of Donald Trump. Now that, truly, is a sobering and disgusting thought. I may stop drinking coffee. And I lived without a smart phone for many years. Perhaps I’m capable of living without one again.
What kind of person am I, really? If you see me sipping on a cup of coffee and talking on a cell phone, slap me. For I deserve a punishment far worse than that.
