“I’d like to buy some time?” said the grungy looking gentleman at the counter of the Rogers kiosk.

“How much?” he asked. Unlike me, the customer service representative wasn’t fazed by this phrase.

“A hundred dollars worth.”

One hundred dollars worth of time. Boom. Just like that. Easy done. Wouldn’t we all like that ability? Just to waltz up to some counter in the ghetto ass Dufferin Mall and get a couple of 20’s worth of time?

Sometimes I hear people nonchalantly talking about space or memory or time in reference to their machines, and it’s like it transports me to another meta-view; it’s like sometimes the mention of it triggers an out of body experience and I think, “This is the future, man.” Time and space miniaturized onto a metal stick, or a little chip, holding our precious memories and ever-important ‘data.’

I was struggling with technology yesterday and I got all frustrated with the speed at which my info was moving through the airwaves. “Come on! SO slow…” and then, when it just quit transmitting altogether, and I got real good and sour, I had to stop myself and think, “This is kind of weird and unbelievable this is even happening. Relax, lady.”

Cameras? How do they work, really though? I don’t know. An image of a moment captured and kept in our digital file folders? Huh? Airplanes? Really? A herd of humans seated comfortably, orderly, calmly as they’re transported THROUGH THE SKY, while complaining about the movies that aren’t working or their food that isn’t to prepared to taste? It’s bananas, people. Bananas.

All these things we’ve created, participate in, take for granted, and we still can’t manage to figure out how to love each other. Yeah, that’s where I was going with that. Surprise, surprise.

“One ticket to the 13th dimension, please.”

“Will you be scanning your retinas or using your fingerprints to pay for that today, Mam?”

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