Hey, look; I won a prize. Here's my short story that won way back in 2016. I'm going somewhere in Egypt very shortly and then somewhere in Italy for a while. I'll send pictures.
😎❤️
iHeaven.com (1st prize North Shore Writers Association, Feb 2016)
“Wouldn’t you prefer to have more conversations with your kids, for heaven’s sake?” Janet started back in with the same conversation they, or more accurately, she, had been having the previous night.
“Ummp!” Walter showed his displeasure by sulking behind the morning newspaper and retreating into monosyllabic grunts.
“Don’t you care that I can’t get hold of you to tell you when I’ll be late or – God forbid – that I’ve had an accident and you just might want to come and rescue me or identify my body?”
“Ummm.”
“Do you want people to think you’re a stupid old man who insists on being stuck in the past and still uses a rotary-dial phone?”
“Hummp.”
“Do you want me to rip that bloody newspaper out of your hands and beat you senseless with it?”
“Now, now,” Walter protested. “There’s no reason to get testy.”
“Testy? I’ll give you testy! I don’t care about your objections anymore. We are buying cell phones today. All you have to do is carry the damned thing in your pocket and answer it when it rings. That way I’ll at least know where you are and I can ask you to do some things on your way home. It’s a simple little cell phone and everyone has one and it’s time you joined the rest of the planet in the 21st century.”
Walter, although not entirely a Luddite in matters of computers, was not enthusiastic. He had put off this moment for some time with pleas of not having enough time to learn the technology, or needing to research all the different plans. He had even, in a vain attempt to claim some moral high ground, declared his resistance to contributing to the abominations being inflicted upon the English language by the abbreviated spellings leaching over into print media from the texting world, lol.
But now, he was following Janet into the Telus store at the mall. His last-ditch effort to distract her by pointing out a sale at a shoe store had proven futile, and he muttered grumpily along behind her to the counter.
“May you help us?” repeated Janet to the clerk. “Most certainly you may help us. We want to buy iPhones. What kind of deals do you have?” Janet loved deals. Wireless service providers loved people looking for deals. It was a match made in i-heaven.com. The clerk began to glow with a joyful inner light as she slid laminated brochures in front of Janet and reverently removed her own iPhone from its belt cradle. Walter turned to study the pretty colours of the protective phone cases on the display racks.
The process was relatively painless and Walter balked only at the colour of the device he was handed. He insisted on a white model because he had already decided on the zebra-stripe case, and while Janet and her new best friend filled out forms, he inserted the phone into its case and frowned through the pages of the little manual.
“Ho, Janet, say ‘Cheese’,” he interrupted suddenly, and without waiting for her to comply, he took his first iPhoto. Then he busied himself pressing buttons. A moment later, he elicited a quacking sound from the little machine and grunted his approval. At the next duck-like noise, he interrupted with, “The kid got back to me right away. Says I’ll soon learn the abbrvs, l-o-l.” And then for the edification of everyone around them, “The ‘l-o-l’ means ‘laugh out loud’.” It was just as well that Walter had returned to playing with his new toy so that he missed the looks exchanged by members of the sales staff in response to this piece of information.
Janet was delighted with her spouse’s quickening interest in his new gadget. “You drive, Sweetheart. I have to finish doing my settings,” he bubbled and then he bent to the task. Before they were home, he had added a score of contact numbers and sent out messages. Once home, he bolted for the office to start copying over music and photo libraries. Janet became a trifle less delighted.
She placed her own iPhone on its charger, but as she tried to prepare dinner it tweeted continually with Walter texting her messages. Finally she yelled down the hallway, “For Chrissake, you stupid old fart, I’m here in the kitchen. Just come and talk to me!” But he didn’t.
That was a Monday. By a week Wednesday, Walter had been banned from the town’s movie theatre and his grandson’s school assembly program, and had received a ticket for driving while texting. Then he discovered social media and ring tone apps and things really fell apart.
Walter found that each communication function of his new machine could have its own unique signal, and further that he was not limited to only the noises available on the device – he could download oh so many more. And he did. Janet accepted his invitation to become his first Facebook friend, (rooster crowing) something she couldn’t very well decline she was later to say. But then came a veritable electronic flood of postings, everything from emailed (train whistle) photographs of new sprouts in the garden to twittered (seagull screams) recipes for haggis. It was only her threats of immediate and serious bodily harm that prevented him from sending out the iPhoto’s of her on the toilet (1812 overture).
Janet took consolation in her children’s assurances that the novelty would soon wear off and Walter would return to his sedentary book-reading life and things would calm down. It didn’t, he didn’t, and it got worse. Bluetooth and eBay were equally to blame.
Bluetooth, he discovered, was the wired-world manifestation of the jump from semaphore to radio microphone and with it Walter could walk, drive and empty his bowels without missing an opportunity to text, talk or view. One of the sites he frequented was eBay, the online auction house. In conjunction with his Bluetooth connection, he happily bought up collections of Country Rose dinnerware, Bradford Exchange collector plates and even an assortment of “intimate arousal devices” which aroused Janet only to the extent of her threatening divorce if he approached her with any of them. It was in the personal services department however, that Walter became embroiled in one of the more unfortunate ventures of his life.
Unbeknownst to him, the Russian mafia had formed an unholy alliance with a white slaver operation in Falukistan, and Walter in his eagerness to complete a seemingly innocuous transaction agreed to trade “personal livestock” via intermediaries who promised to personally complete the exchange at his residence. He sent along a photograph of Janet beside the birdcage and went on with downloading some videos. After all, he didn’t really like those stupid birds anyway and it seemed a good way to get some other pet for a change. The large individuals with shoulder holsters, sunglasses and accents who arrived on his doorstep the following afternoon were not, however, interested in budgies. They wanted his wife as agreed upon, and were ready to present him with a healthy Falukistan specimen of womanhood in exchange. And time was of the essence. They did though, allow themselves to be persuaded to take some libation in consummation of the deal, and so leaving the two burly gentlemen to examine the contents of his liquor cabinet, Walter put down his cell phone for the first time in many weeks and scurried off looking for Janet.
Finding her in the back yard, he decided upon an oblique opening with, “Ah, my Love, planting out some begonias I see.”
“They’re geraniums, but you’ve never known the difference. It’s nice to see you without that stupid microphone stuck in your ear for a change. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
It didn’t come out easily and even when it did, Janet had to have him repeat it before she was willing to believe him. Then the volume of her response escalated dramatically and she headed for the house, armed with a vocal and righteous indignation and a long-handled shovel. The Russian gentlemen were never entirely certain which of the two was the more fearsome, and even when they finally awoke in the cells of the RCMP, they were still unsure whether their pounding headaches were the result of the bottles of liquor they had downed or the shovel with which they had been so sorely beaten.
The RCMP of course had been poised to descend on the operation from the moment they intercepted Walter’s innocent confirmation of the trade. Although Janet was initially in favour of Walter keeping his end of the bargain and taking the Falukistan lady and “getting his sorry ass out of her life,” she did calm down somewhat after the reward money was processed and especially after Walter surrendered his cellphone. His entire repertoire of telephonic responses was reduced for the foreseeable future to the mundane, the timeless, but so unequivocal, “Yes Dear.”