My Phone Is Evil

My phone is evil. It is quiet sometimes. I get a sense of mastery over my universe. Just when I think that I'm safe in my reverie, It bleats. It is unpredictable in ways. I am never sure just when It is going to ring. It is sneaky.

Its signal explodes into my environment, necessitating me to pick up Its receiver. With a sense of foreboding, I take the oddly shaped appendage into my hand, and cradle It next to my ear. There are words inside. Soon the words will be inside my head. My brain will be forced to process the words. I will then be forced to send words back. Is this really necessary?

The words are often trivial, repetitive and boring. The words are perhaps evil as well, becoming so through osmosis as they pass through time, space, and phone entity gods. The words bombard me. My voice mail is evil as well. It saves up the words that the phone brings. I hate it when this happens.

My phone and fax machine do not get along. Manifesting a power play, It tends to sabotage the other. Currently, the fax machine is out of order; the phone smirks. Can't we all just get along?

My phone is evil. Perhaps It impacts more than simply the fax machine. My adding machine and pencil sharpener have been acting up lately. It shares a work station with these other entities. Perhaps evil phone vibes radiate down into the desk counter , across, and up into other appliances. This could account for the mysterious electronic math mistakes, and for the violent destruction of number-two pencils.

Though my phone seems evil, It and I are heavily interdependent. I would not have a job without It. It lets me talk to friends. It lets me go to the internet. Life seems full of these little trade-offs. I think that I can cope. It's only evil, after all.

1999