Reuben, Reuben I've been thinking
What a fine world this would be
If the men were all transported
Far beyond the northern sea!
I was ten years old when I first heard the song, and the lyrics would always reassure me that I could respond to misogyny whenever it raised its ugly head. The following story I wrote in response to "The Stepford Wives", a novel by Ira Levin. His story, later a movie, depicted a town where the wives had mysteriously become robotic submissives. Having grown up during the women's liberation movement in the 1960s, I just had to write my own antidote to male chauvinism.
My story was published in the former "Eclectica Magazine" in May of 2010.
FINE PRINT
Angela
clutched the contract in her shaking hands as she approached the customer
service counter when the number 58 was called, the number she was assigned when
she arrived at 9:00 a.m. It was now 1:15
in the afternoon. She stood rigidly in front
of the representative on the other side of the counter, and glared at her.
“It’s
bloody well about time, young lady. The
shoddy service in this business can only be surpassed by the uselessness of
your product. Here is my receipt for
this defective model and I expect a full refund immediately,” she demanded as
she plopped her papers in front of the twenty-something young woman who towered
over her in a navy blue business suit.
She
forced herself to take a deep breath and silently counted to ten, trying to
calm the rage inside as she watched the agent slowly unfurl her rolled up
contract and then look at it page by page.
“You’re
Angela Lawson?” she asked.
Angela
nodded.
“And
you reside at 1046 Minton Boulevard?”
Again
she nodded.
“And
you purchased this model 11/13/1955/1305Hrs, slightly used but with full
life-time warranty?”
“I
did. Last year, at an exorbitant cost,
more than my house. But it is totally
defective. And I’m afraid it has become
toxic, as well. I’m certainly disappointed
you would foist this type of danger on the unsuspecting public.”
“It’s
defective ? You mean it doesn’t perform
in any mode at all? That would be highly
unusual, Ms. Lawson. Our products are
totally tested after being refurbished.
And you say it’s toxic? I don’t
see how that could be. We pride
ourselves that our factory is both ISO 9000 and WHMIS compliant as well. It is impossible for this product to be toxic
to your work environment, Ms. Lawson.”
“I
don’t care what you pride yourself on, young lady. This model has not functioned efficiently
since it was delivered. And whenever I
try to make it work, it smokes. If
that’s not toxic, I don’t know what is!” she fumed, as she pounded the counter
with a balled fist.
“I
see, Ms. Lawson. That is a concern. Can you explain to me what happens when you
try to make this product work? What
specific procedure do you use?”
“Oh,
for heaven’s sake. Well, if you
insist. Let’s see……. First I position
the model where I want it to function.
Then I disengage the brake cuff.
Then I aim the remote at the machine.”
“Excuse
me, Ms. Lawson. You use the remote? You don’t use the controls on board the
machine itself?”
“Well,
no. What difference would that make?”
“Maybe
the remote needs new batteries, Ms. Lawson,” the blue suit explained.
“I
just installed new batteries, young woman.
I’m not an imbecile!”
“I
see. What about the audio function
then? Does that work? It should be able to inform you which parts
have mal-functioned.”
“Well. The audio plays non-stop, but totally without
relevance to any pre-programming. And on
top of that, the bloody “MUTE” button doesn’t work. The only way I can get it to be silent is to
bang it with a frying pan.”
“Oh. That’s not good, Ms. Lawson. Explain to me what other problems you’ve had
with this model,” she invited sympathetically.
“Mmm. When I use the menu to program a daily
schedule, the “Enter” button won’t depress so, of course, nothing gets
scheduled. Consequently assignments are
not completed and my whole life has become a mess. You’ve no idea how disturbing that is.”
“I
can imagine. What else, Ms. Lawson?”
“The
“Fast Forward” doesn’t work at all. Nor
does “Reverse”. Several functions are
pre-programmed into the model, as you know, but the clock won’t advance in
time, so then those functions don’t work.”
“Oh
no. That’s terrible the clock doesn’t
work. Mind you, that means the warranty
should still be valid, as the meter can’t have progressed beyond the “Best
Before” date,” the clerk assured Angela.
“And
the “Play” button. Well, forget
that. Hopeless. Just hopeless. I derive no satisfaction whatsoever from this
machine. It doesn’t pleasure me at all,”
Angela bemoaned sadly. Then her initial
anger resurfaced, “And it smokes. Every time
I try to get it to work, it smokes and that is polluting my environment. Which is why I’m here. I want a refund. I can’t live with this machine anymore,” she
admitted with tears in her eyes.
“I
can certainly understand you have a relevant claim, Ms. Lawson. But let me explain to you the fine print on
your contract.
……………
Two
hours later Angela arrived home, exhausted over her battle for her consumer’s
rights. As she entered the front door,
tobacco smoke irritated her nostrils and itched at her eyes.
“Yo. Angela.
Did you get your refund?” asked Model 11/13/1955/1305Hrs. as it blew a
smoke ring in front of her face.
She
looked at the model she had nicknamed Scorpion and wondered why she had
invested so heavily in a model that was never designed to be user friendly.
“No. I didn’t get a refund.”
“That’s
great. I won’t be moving then,” Scorpion
grinned, puffing more smoke at her.
“I
didn’t say that. You will be leaving in
the morning. Customer Service explained
the fine print to me. Since more than
ninety days have expired on the warranty, I’m only entitled to an exchange, not
a refund. The company’s shipping
department will drop off your replacement in the morning and take you in for
re-furbishing.”
“I’ll
miss you, Angela. It was such a pleasure
unmanaging your management. I hope your
new model is more to your liking. You
still have my original packaging? I’ve
been through this before, you know.”
“Yes,
Scorpion. Here is the tuxedo you wore
when I signed for proprietary rights. I
should never have bought a used model with faults imbedded. Although I’m sure I could have overlooked a
few things if intercourse between us had improved.”
“I’m
afraid your skillful use of the frying pan precluded that eventuality. You know, Angela, you’ll miss having me to
complain about. You won’t like always
being on top of things with a newer, less aggressive model. At least I’ve been reliably unreliable.”
“Scorpion,
don’t even go there. I’ve made up my
mind. For the money I’ve paid, I deserve
proper servicing. And I will no longer
have to tolerate your smoke or your corrupt programming. That’s it.
Done! Fini!”
Angela
took the batteries out of the remote control.
As Scorpion froze in place watching her, she walked over to the unmoving
body and removed its memory chip from just behind the ear. She approached her computer and plugged the
chip into the USB port. Without any
hesitation, she deleted all of Scorpion’s memory from her life.
Tomorrow
she would start over with a newer model, one that could interface with all of
the appliances in the house. And it also
came with attachments, including the upgraded vibrating phallic
prosthesis. The fine print on her
contract hadn’t done her any harm, after all.
Now
what to call the new model? Adonis,
maybe?
____________________________________________
By Lisa A. Hatton
