Story 258: With My Plot Armor, I Shall Be Invincible!

            The warehouse was bursting at the seams with all the plot devices any character could ever want; this Protagonist, however, had strict instructions to retrieve only one.

         “Hi there!”  The Caretaker emerged from a random aisle and vigorously shook the Protagonist’s hand.  “Welcome to the World of Fiction’s Supply-O-Rama and Trade Emporium, my friend!”

           “Thank you.”  The newly-created Protagonist was uncertain how to feel from moment-to-moment, or even what feelings exactly were.  “The Author sent me here; said it was vitally important before I embark on The Plot – I mean, my Hero’s Journey.”

            “Yes indeedy!”  The smile never lessened in intensity.  “We were contacted ahead of your visit, and I have it all ready for you!”  The Caretaker led the Protagonist to a prominently positioned card table, upon which lay an important-looking wooden crate with “PRICELESS” stamped on all sides.  “Go ahead – open it up!”

            The Protagonist grabbed a crowbar helpfully left on the table and levered open the crate’s top lid; after digging through the packing material, the contents were revealed.

            The Protagonist raised an eyebrow at the Caretaker: “A suit of armor?”

            “Yeppers!  It’s the One-Size-Fits-All Plot Armor!”

            “But... how can I… what does it do?”

            The Caretaker raised a finger: “The question you should be asking is, ‘What doesn’t it do?’”

            They stood expectantly staring at each for a few moments before the Caretaker said, “That’s your cue to ask the question.”

           “Oh, sorry, I thought it was rhetorical.”  They blinked at each other some more.  “OK, what doesn’t it do?”

            “Nothing!”

            “What?”  The Protagonist’s new brain could not handle multiple double negatives at this stage of its development.

            The Caretaker reached into the crate and pulled out the armor’s breastplate to demonstrate.  “Plot Armor is that most wonderful of all inventions, in that it makes one truly immortal.  You can face literally all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and still be around to celebrate the last page at ‘The End.’  An entire building can be dropped on your head, and it’ll turn out to either have missed you unbeknownst to the narrator or you’ll be resurrected in the sequel, all thanks to this baby.”  The Caretaker patted the plate lovingly.

            “Really?”  The Protagonist grabbed a gauntlet.  “An entire building, you say?”

            “Absolutely!  It also can be an entire army, and you just standing there facing them all by your lonesome; or a rogue sniper who has you perfectly in their crosshairs; or a previously incurable disease; even old age, that sneaky foe.”

            “Wow.”  The Protagonist grabbed the breastplate from the Caretaker for a closer look.  “And all I have to do is wear this clunky thing all the time?”

            The Caretaker chuckled.  “Yes, but don’t worry: no one can see it once it’s on.  However, all the world will know it’s there.”

            “How?”

           “Because you will never die, even when virtually anyone else in that same situation would have, and you ultimately succeed in every single thing you do.  Silly,” the Caretaker added, playfully punching the Protagonist’s shoulder.  “The Author put a rush on this – even requested extra plating – so I think you’re in for one doozy of a ride!  Want to try it on?”

            The Protagonist put the Armor back into the crate and placed the latter onto a helpfully nearby hand truck: “I think I’m good for now, thanks.  I probably should go… prep for my adventure, or something.”

           “All righty!”  The Caretaker waved as the Protagonist wheeled the crate towards the exit.  “Remember: wear your Plot Armor at all times, and NEVER EVER TAKE IT OFF, for maximum efficacy!”

            Boy, the Protagonist thought, what have I gotten myself into if I need Plot Armor this much?  Will there be a Plot War?

Story 257: Never Thought I Would Have an Internet Addiction

            Dear Diary,

            It’s very big of me to admit to you that I have a problem.

          No, not that other problem I last wrote you where I was failing Calc 101 – so sorry I never closed the loop there: turned out I succeeded in failing it, dashed my mathematician dreams in Freshman Year, whatcha gonna do.

          So this problem is a little more… comprehensive, I think is the word I want.  It’s come to my attention recently that I’ve developed a group of habits that I believe can be classified as an addiction (not certain, failed Psych 101 too, this is a best guess), especially since it’s passed the test of “I can stop whenever I want” and I know I really don’t want.  To stop, that is.  It’s not drugs, or even porn (the parentals at least would be relieved about that), but that grand culmination of humanity’s achievements: The Internet.

            And yes, this is a thing (you can become addicted to pretty much anything, sadly).

           Oh, I can imagine a time without it – scratch that, I remember a time without it, I am that old.  I started in small doses, like all the kids do, just for fun, like all the kids do.  Then I wound up needing it to get homework done and then work-work done, so it became a chore.  Then the rest of the world got onboard with it, and now no one can do anything without checking the Web site first.

            I think I can spot the exact moment of my downfall: when I migrated from desktop to laptop.  Being able to stretch out and surf the cyber-waves of cat videos and entertainment updates in the newfound nerds’ paradise has been my utter ruin.

            However, this begs the question: is it so much worse than spending hours watching TV?  Or spending hours talking on the phone?  Or spending hours pondering the meaninglessness of life while cooking, cleaning, and tending to an ungrateful family tree?  At least with my issue, I’m actually reading more than I did when text printed on murdered plants was the only option.

            I am finding it harder and harder to shut it down at night, though.  My brain keeps telling my conscience – or my conscience keeps telling my brain? – “Just one more article” – “Just one more video” – “Just want to check my bank statement” – “Wait a minute, I forgot to send out that e-mail” – “Why did they stop following me???”

            The ironic part is that I’m more in touch with my friends now than I ever was with regular old phone and print correspondence.  Doesn’t that make me less antisocial, hm?

            I lost three hours the other night on a role-playing game, but since I had to work with other (human) players in order for any of us to get anywhere, I would say that is equivalent to and possibly even beats a night of cribbage with the neighbors, wouldn’t you?

            Still, I then lost another three hours catching up on Season 2 of I-can’t-even-remember-what-the-show’s-called.  Does reading reams of fan fiction exploring the nuances of characters hooking up in all ways count as consuming literature?  It sure lasted me until the wee hours, when both the computer and I woke up and realized we had never left the couch.

            Case in point: I’ve interrupted this diary entry six times to check my e-mail and post pictures of my dinner in various stages.  If no one comments on those I’ll just scream, if I hadn’t already moved on to watching a video showing whichever celeb I’m into now disappointing me with their shenanigans, yet again.

            I can’t live off four hours of sleep a night, but I can’t pull myself out of the alluring black hole, either.  After a rough day at work, or a rough day at school, or just a rough day, or even just a day, this is the one thing that soothes me – isn’t that how it usually starts?  Is it the dopamine rush?  Had to replace fulfillment in life with something, I guess.

         Volunteer work?  Quality time with family and friends?  Who has the energy?  Or the inclination?  Not this guy.

            Enough of that – I’ve gotta get back to arguing with myself under different account names on my favorite site’s comments section.  Aaaand I just realized that I may need to talk to someone else besides you about this whole thing.

            Your friend in surreality,

            A Self-Aware Troll

Story 256: The Button to Turn Off Your Brain

(In an office)

Employee: (On the phone) Yes, I’m still working on that… No, not yet, I’ve had to go to those meetings every day this week… no, I haven’t been able to start on that yet since I’ve been working on the other report…. Yeah, I’ve had to put that off until I can at least finish the – what?... Um, OK, when is it needed by?... (Rubs forehead) OK, I’ll start working on that now, I guess…. Nope, no-I’ll-work-on-it-now-OK-bye.  (Disconnects the call, then slams the receiver) ---- my life!

Co-Worker: (Sitting at a nearby desk, never looks away from the computer screen) Whoa, easy there, champ; no need for blue words.

Employee: (Slumps back in chair) Sorry.  I’ve been astoundingly unprofessional lately, and I think the only reason I haven’t been written up or fired is that there is literally no one else to do this sh…tuff.  Yet.

Co-Worker: I hear ya.

Employee: You know what the saddest part of all this is?  I’m off to Fiji in a few weeks!  And the whole time there I’m going to be thinking about what I didn’t get done here before I left, and what’ll be waiting for me when I get back!  Makes me want to chuck it all in and call it a failed career, but then I’d been even worse off than I am now.  I just can’t win!  (Slumps half off the chair)

Co-Worker: Mm-hm.  You should have The Button installed.

Employee: (Mumbles from under the desk) What button?

Co-Worker: This.  (Lifts up hair to show a button implanted behind the right ear, as Employee sits back on the chair)

Employee: What is that?!

Co-Worker: (Lets hair fall and resumes typing) The Button.

Employee: Yes, we’ve established that – what does it do?

Co-Worker: Turns your brain off.

Employee: Well then you’d be dead.

Co-Worker: Don’t mean it like that: you program it to target certain brain waves so when you turn it on, those thoughts you don’t want are blocked and you don’t think `em anymore.  Helps you truly live in the moment.

Employee: Sounds like it’d give you a tumor 10 years from now.

Co-Worker: Studies are inconclusive.  Meantime it’s saved my sanity, so for me that’d be a fair trade.

Employee: Maybe.  It really works?

Co-Worker: Heck yeah – haven’t turned it off in over a year.

Employee: Really?  But what about… work?

Co-Worker: What about what?

Employee: (Walks over to Co-Worker’s computer and sees a graphic novel is being created) Never mind.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

            (Employee is on an airplane before take-off when cell phone rings; a number from the office is displayed)

            Employee: (Hisses) What?  I’m off the clock!

            Co-Worker: Exactly: did you hit The Button yet?

           Employee: (Gently touches area behind the left ear and winces) No; it’s still a little sore and I’m waiting until after we land.  You know, so I can fully relax.  Plus I’m still a little on edge about the whole thing; I feel like a cyborg!

            Co-Worker: How many times have you thought about work in the past half hour?

           Employee: I don’t know, there was – and then there’s – see, there’s this big meeting coming up soon –

            Co-Worker: Hit The Button now.

            Employee: Now hold on a minute, let’s not be hasty – I don’t want this thing interfering with the plane’s computers or anything – oh shoot, that reminds me, I forgot to do a spreadsheet for the monthly report that’s due the day I come back –

            Co-Worker: Hit The Button!

          Employee: Pushy.  (Looks around surreptitiously, then hits The Button as if scratching that ear)

            Co-Worker: Well?

            Employee: Well… what?  I don’t feel any different.

            Co-Worker: What are you worried about at this very moment?

           Employee: (Starts to speak, then slowly and full-facedly smiles) Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

            Co-Worker: Enjoy your trip.  (Disconnects call)

            Employee: Ab-so-lute-ly nothing.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

            (In the office, Employee walks to desk, still wearing the same smile; Co-Worker is at station, still never looking away from the computer)

            Employee: Goooooood morning!

            Co-Worker: Hey.  How was Fiji?

           Employee: (Sits and spins in chair) Wooooonderful.  Plus I helped with a beach clean-up while I was there, so I wasn’t total trash.

            Co-Worker: Cool.  So, when’d you wind up turning The Button off?

            Employee: (Giggles) Haven’t.  (Spins more quickly in the chair)

          Co-Worker: (Finally turns away from the computer to face Employee) You know, you really should now that you’re actually back at work.  You’re brain’s only supposed to be turned off from work when you’re not at work, so the job doesn’t steal your time and therefore your soul.

            Employee: (Still spinning, now leaning back and looking upside-down) Why should I?  For once I’m happy to be here; don’t you understand how amazing that is?  Besides, you never turn yours off.

            Co-Worker: That’s `cause I don’t actually need this job: my mom just stuck me here to watch that you guys don’t steal the company’s money.

            Employee: (Stops mid-spin) Huh?

            Co-Worker: I couldn’t care less what you all do here, but if you slack off to the point where she has to fire you and finds out about The Button, she’ll ground me forever!

            Employee: How old are you?

            Co-Worker: I’m too embarrassed to say – just turn The Button off!

            Employee: You know, you yell at me to turn it on, you yell at me to turn it off – there’s just no pleasing you.

            Co-Worker: Turn it off!

            Employee: Oh all right.  (Hits The Button; the smile vanishes) Oh.  There it is.

            Co-Worker: You’re welcome on the great vacation, by the way.  (Turns back to the computer)

            Employee: (Slouches, then depressedly turns on the computer and begins work) Yeah, thanks on that.  At least I had a good time until now.

            Co-Worker: It’s all about compartmentalization.