Beeps, Dings and Dongs Rule My Life

By Bob Wire, 5-26-09

It starts when Barb’s clock radio jumps to life at 6:35. The staticky, chirpy voices of the morning DJ’s are in mid-chatter about some celebrity news. I think it was something about Joaquin Phoenix showing up at some awards show with an entire Bit-O-Honey entangled in his ratty beard. Barb rolls over and slaps the snooze button just as the clock radio on my side of the bed ramps up, playing the same damn song on the iPod that I keep forgetting to change. It’s something by Wynonna, which ensures that I will not simply go back to sleep. I punch Wynonna and roll out of bed.

As I fumble around for my bathrobe, Barb’s work phone is already calling to her from inside her purse. Probably chiming to remind her of today’s first meeting. I shrug into my bathrobe, and as I pad down the hallway I hear a series of five beeps from the kitchen: “Coffee’s ready! Coffee’s ready! Coffee’s ready!” SHUT UP, I want to yell. Reminding me that there’s hot coffee available is like reminding Rush Limbaugh that there’s a box of Oxycontin-covered donuts in the break room. Believe me, I’m aware of it. I continue down the hallway, hearing the kids’ alarm clocks start beeping rudely within a few seconds of each other. I pour a cup, and pull the wet clothes from the washer and put them into the dryer.

A single “bing bong” chime rings from the kitchen table. I look at Barb’s phone. Her sister is texting her from the Eastern time zone, where it’s already almost 9:00. I roll my eyes, sip my coffee, and start back down the hallway to tell the kids to get up or else I’ll hide their DS’s. This empty threat causes some activity. I’m heading for the bathroom when the family laptop in the living room emits a glass-like “ting,” telling me that I’ve just received an email. I’m drawn away from the bathroom only to discover that the email is from some shithead who wants me to “always be ready,” and is offering me some kind of Erectile Dysfunction pill. Dude, in case you can’t tell, I’m currently having no problem in that area. Now let me take my morning piss! Another ting, another email. It’ll have to wait.

While I’m in the bathroom crunching numbers about trajectory, rate of flow, and the angle of the dangle, I hear a muffled, insistent beep. I start pulling open drawers, and there is a Tamagotchi toy, insistently beeping that it needs to be fed. I comply. I feed it to the toilet.

The morning goes on, and as everyone else leaves for work and school, various objects in the house continue to vie for my attention, trying to get me to take some kind of action or another. My cell phone is giving off a series of dying chirps every five minutes, begging me to plug it in before the battery dies. The dryer buzzes (“Fold me! “Fold me!”) and the satellite TV receivers dings to alert me that it will begin recording “The Suite Life of Zack and Cody.” Oh boy. Glad we’re wasting hard drive on that timeless piece of entertainment.

As I walk through the kitchen, the coffee maker starts beeping yet again to tell me that it’s turning itself off. “Quitter,” I say, pouring myself a last cup. I sit down in front of the computer screen and the printer is flashing a light, trying to get my attention. It’s running low on ink. “Tough shit,” I say. “You should get a beeper.”

I start to type up a grocery list, and I can hear a truck outside, backup alarm sounding loudly. I look through the window and it’s the UPS truck, delivering a couple of packages to my neighbor. Thank god, I think, if I hear so much as a doorbell at this point, I’m going to go all Luddite on someone’s ass.

Printed grocery list in hand, I go out to the truck. I unlock the door and climb in, but then realize I’ve forgotten my wallet. I retrieve it from my dresser, and when I go back to the truck, a female voice is telling me, “Your door is ajar.” There’s also an insistent dinging, reminding me that the keys are in the ignition. I shut the door and turn the key. Immediately, a little gas pump light starts flashing and every few seconds there’s a dong, telling me to buy some gas. Is there no escape from the persistent, high tech fascism?!?

My shorts suddenly makes a loud chirp, telling me that someone has just texted my cell phone. Jesus, I am surrounded by inanimate objects designed to give me warnings, scoldings, reminders, requests, announcements, and just plain “look at me!” noises. I feel like I’m no longer the one who owns all this niggling electronic gear; it’s the other way around.

That night, I’m lying in bed, talking to Barb about my beep-and-ding overload, and she nods sympathetically, although I can see a little bit of “oh, you have such a hard life” in her eyes as she kisses me goodnight. We turn out our bedside lamps and snuggle in for a night’s sleep. Just as we’re dropping off to dreamland, the bedside clock turns to 11:00, and something, somewhere in the room lets out a final, random beep. I have no idea what or where it’s coming from; it’s been there for months. Every night at 11:00. I’ve searched the room and come up empty. It’s a mystery.

The gadgets are having the last laugh.

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