Funny article - deliveries, repairs and the portal into 1955

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    02-Apr-2016

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Humorous article written for now defunct social satire blog 'This Is Modern Living'

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  • Humorous article written for now defunct social satire blog 'This Is Modern Living'

    Deliveries, repairs and the portal into 1955

    It's a familiar old story. You purchase a bed, coffee table or other such item. Or maybe you want to splash out and get pay TV hooked up so you can stupefy yourself numb with endless popular culture day and night. Or maybe you just need to get your dishwasher fixed so you don't have to go back on dishes duty like you did when you were poor. The problem is, if you lack a heavy trade vehicle, or a great deal of technical knowledge, you now have to arrange a time to get all this done, with either a delivery company or a technician. Well, welcome to the portal into 1955.

    Great Scott! When I sign an order for delivery, or arrange to get something fixed or wired up, I have become convinced I am talking to Marty McFly's relatives from the Back to the Future movie franchise. Why? Well, it all becomes apparent when you arrange your delivery or repair time.

    Here we go, that's all fine now we just have to arrange a time to do this says the guy/girl/jackanapes.

    OK, it can't be during the day you say I'm at work.

    Now, watch this! Their face goes blank and confusion spreads over their features.

    Oh!...Oh... they say, looking very puzzled Oh dear! You mean, ummm, no-one's at home during the day?"

    No, they are not you reply I work.

    Not even your partner? More confused expressions.

    We both work you say It pays for things like overpriced housing, food, heating, and the rare luxury.

    Oh! Hmmm, well ahh. That's going to make this kind of difficult then....

    Let's stop now. They are obviously very tortured and confused. I think what happens is they look over my shoulder and see someone holding a newspaper with the date of the present day printed on it. Lo and behold, it's not 1955 like they thought, and I am obviously not living in a 1950s style relationship where my partner stays at home in unpaid servitude, potters around in the flower garden and plies delivery services and cable guys with rice crispies and jolly cups of tea, poured from a tea pot with a hand-knitted tea cosy.

    By the way, domesticity really is the death of romance isn't it?

    Deliveries, repairs and the portal into 1955