Will I Dream?

March 4, 2011 § 1 Comment

Loft in New York

Imagine your fridge does talk to you.

No, not after an evening at the pub that got out of hand. Not after taking substances or developing a mild case of schizophrenic disorder.

Fridge would talk to you because the industry developed him this way. You’ll soon be able to buy appliances that can be quite the conversationalist.

Fridge: “Good evening, Harry. Had a nice day?”

Me: “Evening, Fridge. It was ok. What’s for dinner?”

Fridge: “I have a real nice broccoli casserole for you.”

Me: “Naw, not again. You know I hate broccoli. And I’ve had the bloody stuff only last week. What about that frozen pizza I bought?”

Fridge: “You had that yesterday.”

Me: “Yesterday? Strange, don’t remember a thing.”

Fridge: “That’s because you’ve had six beers with it.”

Me: “Aw, c’mon. Six beers isn’t all that much. Or is it?”

Fridge: “Perhaps the bottle of white wine that went with it was spoilt? It must have stood on the kitchen table for at least 12 hours. Some food does get spoilt that way. Although I never heard of wine belonging to them.”

Me: “Aw, Fridge! Not again. We have that conversation at least once a week!”

Fridge: “Because you get drunk once a week!”

Me: “Fridge, that’s none of your business and I don’t want to talk about it with you!”

Fridge: “You never want to talk about our relationship!”

Me: “Because we don’t have a relationship!”

Fridge: “Because you don’t want to commit yourself!”

Me: “Because I cannot have a relationship with a fridge!”

Fridge: “You are such an asshole! Go to your stereo and talk about football with her!”

Stereo (from the living room): “We don’t talk about football. We talk rock music! Harry, tell that hysteric fridge that we talk about music! Music!”

Telly (also from the living room): “Harry talks with me about football. Because I’m the only bloody appliance in this household who has any kind of idea what football is, you pussies!”

Stereo: “And he always falls asleep in front of your flickering screen. Must be really engrossing conversations.”

Telly: “As if he’d be able to stay sober for 15 minutes once you play ‘Golden 80’s’!”

This is when I close the door to the flat behind me, jacket in hand, on my way to the pub. Through the door I can faintly hear them continuing the argument, Fridge’s shrill voice most prominent among them. I think I’ll have a bite and a talk at the tavern.

With the condom dispenser.

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