I’m basically Tom Hanks on a gentrified island in ever sprawling Nashville. (Did you hear, we might get our TV show back? Apparently the same people that wanted a second Huntsman movie are clamoring for another season).
But much like Mr. Gump at sea, I have pals.
Alexa is my Wilson. An automated Philips light bulb is my fire. A barely functioning Comcast box is my connection to the outside world. The closest analogy I can find for the Comcast box is man-eating sharks. Though, based on Comcast’s product performance, that’s unfair to sharks.
This week, during a thunderstorm that would scare Russell Crowe‘s Noah so badly he’d be to frightened to ponder murdering babies, my technology conspired against me.
(Have no clue about the Noah murder baby reference? It’s a real thing. Go ahead and check it out. I’ll wait. https://www.lifesitenews.com/blogs/does-god-want-noah-to-commit-infanticide-in-the-upcoming-movie)
Back to it…
3:38 am. A booming thud.
My paper dry 20/440 blind eyes peeled open to see light coming from around the edges of my locked bedroom door. A light that wasn’t on the hours prior.
I slipped on my spectacles and quietly moved to open the door. Ninja mode, engaged.
With a delicate twist of the bronze handle, I was quickly greeted by an unprompted mess of gibberish from Alexa, who I keep conveniently set atop a table at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hello? Hey! I have a gun…” (I don’t.)
I walked down the stairs like I expected landmines on every step.
Then I beheld the thing of science fiction nightmares. A technological Funhouse of Horrors.
The scene: an extremely eerie shade less lamp I’ve been too lazy to fix beaming brightly back at me, basically a burning retina from Phillips hell.
My Comcast Xfinity box proudly displaying its ability to both spontaneously turn on my television as well as its futile efforts to connect to service.
Then, the coup de gras, my sweet Alexa, her blue rings circulating like a playground merry go round powered by crack addicted Smurfs. “Cannot connect, cannot connect, connect,” she chanted endlessly.
After a few breaths I stepped back from the precipice of my own poltergeist nightmare and discovered the devilish truth…the power had gone out, meaning:
Yep. All of my stomach churning fear was a result of the electricity going bye bye like Flint in Jaws (if that’s a spoiler for you, then SHAME ON YOU).
The lesson? Get a roommate.
Or a girlfriend that doesn’t need a connection to the Internet.