1 post tagged “paranoia”
Ever since the crime-scene investigation of our assualted and violated car while we were away on vacation, my dad has decided and carried out his swift plan of pre-emptive warfare on any and all petty thiefs and grand burglars. Today, Craig the Bell South Guy was in our home (and in my room) for five hours installing motion sensors to monitor any suspicious activity. This means a few new things I must resign myself to--
1. Strange beeps everytime someone walks into the house. The network, whom I have dubbed Hal because it's only too appropriate, has not yet had an episode in the few hours it has charged itself with our care, but don't blame me if one day it shoots out lasors at the Mormons coming around and preaching the Word of Financial Duties to God.
2. There are cameras all around the house INCLUDING ONE IN MY BEDROOM. Of course, my father insists that they are simply motion detectors that can notify us should a window be smashed in à la our poor Buick, but THEY LOOK JUST LIKE CAMERAS. What has stopped the government from making a deal with Bell South to keep tabs on innocent families? For goodness' sake, IT'S ABOVE MY BED. IT CAN WATCH ME SLEEP AND IT'S WATCHING ME RIGHT NOW TYPING THIS ON MY COMPUTER. Telescreen, anyone? Hal is smirking, I have no doubt, as my father continues to gaze at it fondly and caress his cricket bat just in case. (He doesn't have a cricket bat, but I prefer the imagery to those of his beaten old golf clubs).
3. I'm still not convinced it can do anything other than emit a fierce beeping noise at intruders. All the theif needs is a glass cutter (for my bathroom window, undoubtedly the most vulnerable spot in the house) with which he will create a tiny hole UNSEEN BY THE TELESCREEN/MOTION DETECTORS and reaching in with his leptodactylous, dexterious hands he will unlock and open the window, leap to the floor with catlike grace, slither into my room, KILL ME, continue upstairs and find... oh wait, that's right. WE HAVE NOTHING VALUABLE IN THE HOUSE. Except for some antiques that I doubt he would be willing to carry. Anyway, when I mentioned this OBVIOUS FLAW in the entire programming, my father just looked bemused for a second, most likely pondering why I have such a morbid imagination. Then he shrugged and was probably going to make a joke about how the sound of me gurgling on my life's blood from the throat slice would probably alert the monitor above my bed, but Craig chose that moment to walk in.
But it's okay. I'm leaving in a week. But I might just begin sleeping under my bed.
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And now for something completely different--
What's your morning beverage of choice? Coffee, tea, juice? Homemade or store-bought?
My tea addiction has never been stronger, and recently I've succumbed to the numbingly strong taste of Shamrock Irish Breakfast Tea. Of course, I'm a simple soul who relies on the tried-and-true Earl Grey most of the time, however.
(A small disclaimer of sorts: in my current state of extreme wariness, I feel I cannot be held responsible for egregious misspellings or any other destructions to the English language).
