Tuesday, September 16, 2008

I Need My Own Help

I've got a Blackberry. I didn't think I wanted one, but when work made it both easy and free—two things all but guaranteed to elicit a positive reaction—I agreed. I don't mind it, except for the crazy addiction to checking it all the damned time.

Anyway, I was in a restaurant, and the person I was dining with excused herself to hit the head (Why don't women ever refer to the bathroom as the head? For that matter, why the hell am I?). When I checked my email, the one at the top of the queue made me think I was in the middle of some crazy time-travel adventure.

The sender was "Bernardin" and the subject was "Help."

Of course, when I opened the message, it was from my mother, looking for advice on buying my wife a birthday present. But for the briefest of moments, I actually thought I was sending myself messages from the future...and I desperately needed my own assistance.

I read too many comic books.


Troy Hickman said...

It is, of course, impossible to read too many comic books.

marc bernardin said...

feels like that should be an episode of some cheesy anthology. Instead of "A Cask of Amontillado," it'd be "The Longbox of Eternity"