25-January-2010 3:43PM

This pen, evidence of another notorious cost-cutting measure acted as if it could run out of ink at any second for its complete lack of capacity.

-Because of this, a conundrum is formed, an impasse of where or not I should attempt to start on some arbitrary subject seen or heard or even thought-up out of thin air. As I write here the faded conditions seem to lessen, forecasting a possible reprieve at having to involuntarily stop at a near-event within the future, which is to stop this narrative at what may enter into the equation of the entrance of “reality” as the written word which equals the trance at which produces it. –To have it halt because of the lack of supply over a quick-drying liquid is both cumbersome to the mind and quite annoying in all other respects. That said, I may then gamble on the prospect that my “annoyance” may not outweigh the chance at a cooperating sense of creative self, for all too often I find that the timing does not work out, or in other words that the equation is actually a disguised inequality in the strictest sense, and that all lines up adequately all too rarely.

***

There I was, just finished on a short transit hop from downtown to the arena of SEA-TAC airport, having walked the half mile or so from the station to where I was able to plug in and charge the phone (for another rare thing indeed is the availability of electrical outlets). I ended up sitting next to a squat woman with spastically teased voluminous hair speaking on the phone concerning IT troubles, presumably on the other end of the line.

She told this “him” to reinstall and try again to launch whatever application was causing the affront to both their psyches, and if that didn’t work he was to, “call the Help Desk.”

After she hung up an old woman sitting on the opposing side of her had yelped out, “Why can’t I get this to connect?” with her husband standing over her huffing his exasperation at his wife’s dramatic frustration.

What was clear from the body language I observed was that this old woman undoubtedly was attempting to acquire the assistance of the said “IT Professional” with the wacky hair. –For the old woman, or the Social Vampire as it turned out, produced these furtive glances and dramatic yowls of dissatisfaction at every opening she detected at the I.T. Professional’s demeanor. –But of course how could the I.T. Professional resist this fleeting onslaught of unsaid communiqué, quite? Indeed, the I.T. Professional delved immediately into the issue while packing her paraphernalia simultaneously.

“Did you accept the terms and agree to connect?” she probed.

“No, how do you do that?” the Social Vampire replied.

“Once your wireless adapter connects you must open IE, yes, IE not that other browser, and accept the terms.”

“I don’t know if we should take responsibility for an unsecure network!” the Social Vampire’s reclusive spousal unit interjected.

“Well, you won’t be able to connect then,” the I.T. Professional said.

“Why is this taking so long?” the Social Vampire whined.

“It’s slow here, sometimes it just takes a while, you just have to be patient with these things!”

The Social Vampire snapped a prudish leer out of the corner of her eye at the I.T. Professional and indicated a “humph” under her breath.

They all wait with baited breath it seemed, as the small laptop labored away at this pointed task as the Social Vampire squirmed in utter vexation.

By this time the I.T. Professional was all packed up and ready to take off.

“It’s still not connecting!” the Social Vampire told the I.T. Professional.

“You gotta be patient!” the Social Vampire’s reclusive husband suggested, to which he received a look of absolute reprehension.

“Yes, but don’t worry, it should connect if you let it do its thing,” the I.T.
Professional said as she swung her bag over her shoulder to leave.

“But it's still not connected!” the Social Vampire ululated in a near sob.

The I.T. Professional by this point had to depart, and doing so she shrugged her shoulders in a noncommittal sway and left swiftly leaving the Social Vampire with a gaping mouth of incredulity.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye I detected the Social Vampire’s stare in my direction for about five straight seconds. I, in turn kept my eyes unwavering to the object of my attention: a smart phone where I was in the midst of delivering a sentence of snark of no more than one-hundred forty characters about this very subject.

Again with loudness, the Social Vampire expressed her displeasure at not being able to connect.

Her reclusive husband then said, “You must be patient dear, and plus if you cannot connect it is really no big deal.”

“But I wanna check my mail!” the Social Vampire verbally lashed, causing her reclusive husband to say in response, “I’m going over there to wait while you do this.”

“Where are you going?” she shouted after him.

“Over there,” he pointed over to the seats behind me, empty and in a row.

“What about the bags?” she asked.

“What about them?”

“Who’s going to watch them?”

“I’m leaving them here with you. If you need me I’ll be right there, just call to me.”

“Then I gotta lug all the bags over to you,” she growled.

“No. No you don’t!” he replied with acute irritation.

He left while she continued to murmur with marked agitation as she looked over at me, again literally boring her gaze into the side of my head baiting me to help her connectivity issues.

I patently decided not to get involved, for through my alleged “spidey” sense I ascertained a feeling of dread at the prospect: for this was one that conveyed an impression of a perpetual dissatisfaction at just about anything. There was no pleasing her, no matter the circumstance (a scenario I am unfortunately all too familiar with).

Before I was aware at the passage of elapsed time she abruptly called out, “Fred, Fred!” in a hoarse but mainly guttural and piercing voice.

Her reclusive husband peeked up through his thick rectangular framed glasses and ambled over laboriously while in mid-walk toward us she announced, “Skype’s on! All your kids are on there!”

She then rose so that he could take a seat. When he did she hurried off without a word.

He asked, “Where are you going?”

“To the gift shop!” she sassed as if his question was the most idiotic ever fathomed in the entire history of the human race.

Need I say more?