with
hands because the numbers glowed green and I couldn’t bear the resemblance to the Halloween masks on sale next to it, and now, after several stores and two returned purchases I have this round one, actual metal, with hands and a tiny white bulb that lights the face when I press a button in the back, and it slides in and out of a clever case.
It’s the ticks, though. I stay awake. I write this in my notebook leaning over my night table in the tiny bulb glow, angry at the weakness of the entire situation.
Here, in this imaginary epistolary, I’m ticking, too.
PHONE
At night, one night, I couldn’t reach you. You were visiting your parents.Their phone rang and rang but no one answered and no machine. I didn’t know the arrangement your family has with the computer. I hung up and I lay there, butt to butt with my dog, imagining the terrible things you could be going through, ranging from they took you to dinner and a movie to they bound you in a chair and asked you who the hell I was and why I kept calling.
HEATING PAD
It’s blue, with small blue roses on one side and words on the other.
I’m holding it.
It says: “This product has been engineered to put out the maximum temperature allowed by industry standards. Heating pad.Wetproof E12107. Danger.” It doesn’t have periods, commas,
or semicolons, but I add them as I read and so I add them here, desperate for punctuation. “Burns will result from improper use,” it says. “To reduce the risk of burns, electric shock, and fire, this product must be used with the following instructions: do not use while sleeping; burns can occur before timer turns off; burns may occur regardless of timer or control setting; check skin under pad frequently to avoid burning and blistering; do not use on infant; this pad is not to be used by or on an invalid, a sleeping or unconscious person, a person with poor blood circulation, a paralyzed person or a person with diabetes; do not use if signs of appendicitis are present; do not use a heating pad on areas of sensitive skin; never use pad without removable cover in place; do not use in an oxygen enriched environment or near equipment that stores or emits oxygen; place pad on top of and not under the part of the body needing heat; do not sit on, or against, or crush pad; avoid sharp folds; never pull this pad by the supply cord and do not use the cord as a handle; unplug when not in use; never use pins or other metallic means to fasten this pad in place; carefully examine inner cover before each use; discard the pad if inner covering shows any signs of deterioration such as blistering or cracking; read and follow all instructions on box or packed with pad before using. Fabric content 100% polyester.”
I miss you.
SUPERMARKET CHECKOUT MACHINE
I have made eight mistakes checking myself out. (Not like that. This is not me trying to be sexy. I swear, desire is so embarrassing).
I’m all revved up over it. It’s as if I feel I am demonstrating, by stamping my feet and talking back to the instruction screen, the need for qualified checkout machine operators, but I also know no one watching my animated frustration will be anything except annoyed. Can’t we all just cooperate and get through this? Jesus, no one likes this shit, who do you think you are?
Here are the mistakes I made: I did not get my discount card out of my wallet fast enough. I tried to replace the plastic bag on the rack with a bag from home. I took too long putting the bags back the way they were supposed to be and had to rescan my items. I put too many items in the plastic bag. I pushed star instead of pound. I decided not to buy a piece of cheese I thought I was going to buy. I wanted six eggs and not twelve. But that last one always happens.
I miss the rubber conveyor belt, even though it has so often mangled my parsley. No one wants this, I think, looking around for help. Everyone is immersed in the checkout process. People study the screens and handle
hands because the numbers glowed green and I couldn’t bear the resemblance to the Halloween masks on sale next to it, and now, after several stores and two returned purchases I have this round one, actual metal, with hands and a tiny white bulb that lights the face when I press a button in the back, and it slides in and out of a clever case.
It’s the ticks, though. I stay awake. I write this in my notebook leaning over my night table in the tiny bulb glow, angry at the weakness of the entire situation.
Here, in this imaginary epistolary, I’m ticking, too.
PHONE
At night, one night, I couldn’t reach you. You were visiting your parents.Their phone rang and rang but no one answered and no machine. I didn’t know the arrangement your family has with the computer. I hung up and I lay there, butt to butt with my dog, imagining the terrible things you could be going through, ranging from they took you to dinner and a movie to they bound you in a chair and asked you who the hell I was and why I kept calling.
HEATING PAD
It’s blue, with small blue roses on one side and words on the other.
I’m holding it.
It says: “This product has been engineered to put out the maximum temperature allowed by industry standards. Heating pad.Wetproof E12107. Danger.” It doesn’t have periods, commas,
or semicolons, but I add them as I read and so I add them here, desperate for punctuation. “Burns will result from improper use,” it says. “To reduce the risk of burns, electric shock, and fire, this product must be used with the following instructions: do not use while sleeping; burns can occur before timer turns off; burns may occur regardless of timer or control setting; check skin under pad frequently to avoid burning and blistering; do not use on infant; this pad is not to be used by or on an invalid, a sleeping or unconscious person, a person with poor blood circulation, a paralyzed person or a person with diabetes; do not use if signs of appendicitis are present; do not use a heating pad on areas of sensitive skin; never use pad without removable cover in place; do not use in an oxygen enriched environment or near equipment that stores or emits oxygen; place pad on top of and not under the part of the body needing heat; do not sit on, or against, or crush pad; avoid sharp folds; never pull this pad by the supply cord and do not use the cord as a handle; unplug when not in use; never use pins or other metallic means to fasten this pad in place; carefully examine inner cover before each use; discard the pad if inner covering shows any signs of deterioration such as blistering or cracking; read and follow all instructions on box or packed with pad before using. Fabric content 100% polyester.”
I miss you.
SUPERMARKET CHECKOUT MACHINE
I have made eight mistakes checking myself out. (Not like that. This is not me trying to be sexy. I swear, desire is so embarrassing).
I’m all revved up over it. It’s as if I feel I am demonstrating, by stamping my feet and talking back to the instruction screen, the need for qualified checkout machine operators, but I also know no one watching my animated frustration will be anything except annoyed. Can’t we all just cooperate and get through this? Jesus, no one likes this shit, who do you think you are?
Here are the mistakes I made: I did not get my discount card out of my wallet fast enough. I tried to replace the plastic bag on the rack with a bag from home. I took too long putting the bags back the way they were supposed to be and had to rescan my items. I put too many items in the plastic bag. I pushed star instead of pound. I decided not to buy a piece of cheese I thought I was going to buy. I wanted six eggs and not twelve. But that last one always happens.
I miss the rubber conveyor belt, even though it has so often mangled my parsley. No one wants this, I think, looking around for help. Everyone is immersed in the checkout process. People study the screens and handle
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