A Modern Inconvenience

Published in The Tripoli Club Gazette

How many times have I performed acrobatic maneuvers in a rushed attempt to answer a ringing telephone? How many times have I raced to the landline phone even though it was at an extremely inconvenient moment? Is the telephone a modern inconvenience?

One wintry day when a penetrating wind had chilled me to the bone, I longed for the warmth of a steaming hot bath. Finally my wish was about to be fulfilled as I settled into a lavender-scented bubble bath and the chill that had annoyed me all day was being gently replaced by a tingling warmth. I closed my eyes and reveled in my relaxed state. I felt light and floating as I slipped further into a blissful, meditative state.

Suddenly my ears perked up and I was immediately alert. The phone was ringing and like a conditioned response I leaped from the tub, grabbed the doorknob for balance and then snatched the towel as I darted to respond to the signal.
"Can I call you back", I politely but quickly inquired.

Sauntering back to the tub, I gazed at the trail of water puddles. The abhorrent cold once again assaulted my awareness as I stepped into the tub and immersed myself into the now tepid water. The relaxed state that I had reveled in moments before could not be recaptured, so I sullenly washed and concluded my longed for bath. I consoled myself with the thought that the movie I had been looking forward to watching would be starting momentarily.

I was happily cuddled up on the sofa, wrapped in my favorite afghan, sitting on the edge of my seat as another surprise twist occurred. I wasn't certain who the murderer was yet, but I was highly suspicious of the "friend". But, what was his motive? I sipped my hot apple cider as I mulled over motives.

I heard the phone but decided to ignore it. I was too engrossed in the made-for-TV-movie. But, the ringing was interrupting my concentration so I reached for the receiver, "Hi, Mom".
I attempted to follow the next turn of events and listen to my Mom. "You seem distant tonight. Perhaps you're not feeling well." I scrambled to end the conversation with a promise to take two aspirin and to call her back in the morning.

I focused intently a second time on the movie, but soon discovered to my dismay that an important clue had escaped me. I could no longer solve the murder mystery and my previous contentment eluded me. Feeling somewhat disgruntled, I decided to retire early. I harshly pushed the stop button on the CD player in the middle of the words "sleep like a log". "I haven't slept like a log for ages", I grumbled. "I deserve to sleep well tonight since both my bath and my movie were interrupted by that modern life curse!"

Exhaustion overwhelmed me as I snuggled under the heat of the electric blanket. My tiredness dissolved into a tranquil, floating sensation which enveloped me, and I welcomed this reprieve from my daily worries and woes. I drifted into a deep, restful slumber laced with dreams.

My eyes opened wide. All my dreams dissipated. I recognized the everyday tone of that contraption…that cursed contraption. "I forgot to unplug it", I groaned. A quick glance at the illuminative alarm clock revealed the early morning hour. I pounced out of bed, stumbled over the rug, and stubbed my toe. My toe was throbbing so I limped to the living room, groped for the light switch, and grabbed the receiver. I heard a "click".

Disappointment and anger welled up simultaneously. I hobbled back to bed and I squeezed my eyes shut demanding that my respite return. But I couldn't cease worrying about a call at 2:30 a.m. I tossed and turned. Obviously, it had to be a gloom and doom call. My thoughts swiftly shifted from all the potential dreaded news to my throbbing toe. 2:43 a.m........2:57 a.m…….3:08 a.m……. At 3:54 I forced myself to get up to take an aspirin.

When the shrilling, obnoxious sound of the alarm rudely penetrated my unconsciousness, I hurled the cursed device through the doorway. I was completely awakened when I first heard a crashing noise succeeded by a shattering one. I rolled out of bed to "check out" the disturbance. I shrieked as I scratched my foot on a sharp piece from my alarm clock. "Bad luck always comes in threes", I managed to assure myself as I recited a well-known superstition. "That modern convenience – the telephone – has been a modern inconvenience three times."