I Got Fired

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I Got Fired. Wait. I’m retired. How could I get fired? My wife fired me from drying dishes. My wife is one smart cookie. She waited until I was drying the last dish before she fired me.

She said I wasn’t letting the dishes drain enough before I dried them, and my drying cloth was getting soaked. That might be my fifteen drying cloths were getting soaked. She didn’t want to have to jog down into the basement and wash all of them.

Like maybe we have a dishwasher, a dishwasher we haven’t used in I don’t know how long. I open the door to the dishwasher to see if it is suffering from loneliness or needs for me to call a psychologist to come to the house to readjust its state of mind.

Actually there is method in our madness. We use the time to carry on a conversation while we’re washing and drying the dishes. You know that word talk, like we did in the forties and fifties before all the technology came along.

I think the first significant distraction was TV. We had radio prior to that, but you could talk over the radio. With TV you had to look and listen, a form sometimes known as idiotic concentration.

Then came that early version of the computer, you know the ones that used binary, alias 0 and 1. A long string of those at the office and trying to figure out what 0 and 1 among thousands were in error nearly drove one nuts, and when the person returned home they were contemplating the mental institution, and weren’t much for talking.

Along came the IBM 360/30 with four tape drives, and a disk drive with 7.5 mil bytes of memory, a byte being two bits. Why the necessity for a disk drive? Mainly because a third of the memory in the main frame was gobbled up by the operating system (sometimes affectionately known as OS). And by the time you entered a few items, the main frame memory was shot, and you called in the disk. One operating in this environment, did speak a few words when they came home, but it was constricted talk to say the least, not the free flow of words in a normal conversation.

Then we charge into overdrive with the technology. Chronology is a blur, but along came the iPhones, texting, Facebook, and Instagram. What have I left out? Sitting around at the supper table and talking became a myth. If everyone assembled at home by midnight for bed, it approached miracle status.

So here my wife and I in 2015 were back in the old ways of the forties and fifties.

Surely there must be aliens from outer space who have been monitoring us all this time, and with their technology far beyond ours, find no mystery in all the technology I have already mentioned. Area 51 and UFO’s. The aliens probably find talking confounds them more than anything, thinking we are coding something, and they must decode it to understand us. I was a little fearful a UFO might land in our backyard, not to abduct us, but for one of the little green men to come knock on our back door, and say they couldn’t decode, would we please tell them what we meant.

Perhaps if I don’t have to be concerned about the UFO’s, and return to the realm of us earthlings, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to tell my wife I’ll try to do better, maybe cut the nightly supply of drying cloths to five per night. The womanly thing for her to do is not to brash me in the head with one of her cooking utensils. She probably won’t do that because she doesn’t want a dent in the cooking paraphernalia.

Maybe I should take a different approach, like telling her, “Honey, I love ya.” That worked in the fifties when I first met her. You know, I bet that will work again.

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