The Rabbit Hole: I Don't Like Being Incovenienced!!!

[Warph]

I don't like being inconvenienced.  None of us do.  In fact, most of us are now unwilling to lift a finger unless it's to let another driver know what we think of him and his driving.

You know, I think this whole convenience thing started with the wheel.  Before that gizmo came along people didn't expect anything to be convenient.  Once we were happy in our dank little caves, until we were able to use the wheel to see that others had caves that were bigger and weren't filled with as much bat guano as ours.  With the wheel came envy, a lowering of our self-esteem, and greed.  Screw you wheel and anything else semi-round you rode in on.

My favorite convenience is pay-at-the-pump gas stations.  Zip in, slide the card, pump the liquid gold and go.  In fact, pumping gas is the only car-related task I will partake in.  I'm proud to say I have not once opened the hood of my car.  For all I know, the engine runs on the shrieking souls of the damned.

The one convenience I would never give up is ice. I feel this is by far a better invention than fire.  I'm not putting fire down mind you, but I'll have my meat rare, thank you, if I can get a few frosty cubes in my vodka-laced iced tea.  Any clown on Survivor stuck on a tropical island can make fire. How many can make ice? (Because I could use an icebreaker right about now.)

For me, the ATM is the model of modern convenience. It's fairly reliable, open 24 hours a day.  The lines are never very long.  It leads me step by step through the process.  Then in less than a minute, it hands me money and thanks me for taking it.  Then, almost as a cherished token of our lovely time together, it gives me a receipt for the transaction. Oh yeah, I'm making love with a ATM... and, yeah, I want a balance statement to remember it by, little lady.

The telephone, once one of the most useful inventions for man, has now become a communication curse for mankind.  I think there is something wrong when you hear a cell phone ring in public and thirty people start patting themselves down like they've just burst into flame. 

People on cell phones are like people on drugs, except far less likely to shut up.  Now because of technology we can go through the entire day with out ever talking to a single living person. Which, believe me, I look at it as a plus.  I would love to be in the middle of a live conversation with someone and be able to push a star*key on their chest to fast forward to the damn point of their story.

When buying home electronics, I always get the optional warranty. I know consumer advocates say it's a rip off, but I just don't want to be inconvenienced.  Neither does my neighbor Oswaldo.  Last week his high-definition big screen went out on him.  So he calls the place where he bought it, mentions the warranty, and the guy says they'll fix it for free, but that he'll have to bring it in.  Now Ossie doesn't own a pickup truck or a van and neither do I.  Not only that, but have you ever tried to lift a big screen high definition television set?  It's extremely top heavy and very awkward.  So Ossie, the guys from the senior wood-working shop, and I put on safety goggles, took hammers, and bashed the thing into 763 easily manageable pieces which we numbered and put into a giant shoebox for eventual reassembly, and transported them to the service desk.  Tebbi, the nice man in the K.C. Royals baseball turban, told us it'll be ready in the year Pi.

Did you know the clothing company Dockers actually makes a pair of pants with eight pockets to enable men to keep their hands free while carrying their wallet, keys, Starbucks card, MP3 player, palm pilot, two-way pager and cell phone. You know, when you're knocking over small children as you careen down the street because you're literally crating cargo in your pants, it seems like the cooler move at that point would be just to bite the bullet and go with the man-purse.

And you know the ultimate irony: today, even convenience stores are no longer convenient.  First off, there is never a place to park, because the reason they named it "7-11" in the first place, is that there's only seven parking places and eleven cars at any given time, so you have to circle the convenience store like a freaking Indian (oops, excuse me, "casino-owner American") attacking a wagon train. Then, the check-out lines are always filled with people who feel the need to scratch the silver pants off the leprauchan's ass on the "Buck of the Irish" lottery ticket while still standing at the counter; not to mention the sixteen year old guys trying to buy Mike's hard lemonade using their dead great-grandpappy's dogtags from the Spanish Civil War as ID; and the sheepish couple palming condoms like the Ace of Clubs in a poker game; or, my personal favorite, the just-new-to-this-hemisphere guy trying to cash third party checks from Indonesia written on the back of a leaf that he had wiped his ass with earlier that afternoon. By the time you get to the register, your coffee's cold, and your Slurpee's hot, but you were able to (....bleep bleep....) to PlayBoy in line, thereby saving yourself the cost of buying it. Now that's convenience.
Clean up on Aisle 2    .....Warph

[Teresa]

OMG.. if you wrote that.. my hat is off to you.. if you didn't.. my hat is off to you anyway for posting it.. 

That is oh soooo my sense of humor.. ( and it has such a full ring of sarcastic truth in it too.)

I HAVE to pass this one on..
but first.. Did you write it? ( have to give the credit to the due party you know.. LOL)

**I'm still chuckling**

[Warph]

   I have to admit I did have a little help from Oswaldo, Tebbi and the just-new-to-this-hemisphere guy but, we got it done

[Diane Amberg]

Love it....but I'll have you know my family cave wasn't dank. Dark and dreary maybe, but never dank!