Manninu88
10-21-2014, 09:09 AM
“Check signal cable? I have, time after time, the damn thing doesn't work!”
"Technology." I mutter to myself, whilst at the same time rolling my eyes, and letting out a gentle huff of frustration.
I find these situations particularly annoying, in the sense that everything is where it's meant to be, all plugged in nicely, each socket connected like it should be, power surging from the mains, everything in order, everything set up correctly! So why this message? 'Check signal cable.' Why does it continue to mess with my mental state of mind?
“Argh, damn you technology!” I exclaim psychotically.
I then scrutinize the evil message one more time on my television screen, then turn away briskly, darting into the kitchen.
It's mid-morning on a blustery winter’s day. We've just rolled into the month of December, although I feel like it’s still November, as for me personally, I don't tend to keep track of days, dates and months; they all seem to roll into one.
The clock in my kitchen says its quarter past eleven and I find myself vacantly staring at a bottle of Glenlivet. It's half full, or half empty; whichever way around people choose to determine the contents of something. I however, just see single malt scotch whiskey at its finest. I decide instantly to get a glass, after all, that damn technology debacle in my living has sent me over the edge, so a generous drop of smooth, warming Scottish malt should calm my soul from any technological worries.
“Ah, that's better.” I say to myself contently, after sampling the first sip.
“Such a wonderful whiskey”. I further add, as I stare incredulously at the straw coloured liquid. And if you look closely, there is a soft greenish tint to the poison, which has now begun to fascinate my senses even more.
“What a brilliant drink!” I say out loud, as I go in for my second slurp.
“Where did I put the bottle?” I say instantaneously after the golden blend happily slides into my oesophagus. As I would thoroughly like to know a little more about this said 'Holy water.'
I find it next to the toaster, grab it frantically and begin to read the reverse label.
“How fascinating.” I mutter to myself, as I unconsciously complete a Hat-trick of sips, celebration free.
I continued to read the liquors blurb, whilst standing with bottle in one hand and glass with contents in another, and somehow 'Check signal cable' enters my mind, and I immediately burst into hysterical laughter.
'Hahahaha!!” I chuckled somewhat dementedly.
“Who's laughing now technology? Check signal cable, I'll show you 'check signal cable'.” I shouted, as I went in for a forth sip, admirably.
I must have poured a triple, perhaps even a quadruple, as there's still a little of the splendid stuff left in my glass. See it off, I ultimately decide.
“Gulp!” And it was gone.
Well, what was in my glass. There was over a third left in the bottle, as I debated pouring myself another. A quick glance at the clock.
“Eleven thirty three”. I muttered in an Irish accent.
“Not even noon, and I've had two doubles already.” I unwillingly mentioned to myself out loud.
What would my mother think if she could see me now? My dad would be proud, but he passed away many years ago, it was the booze you see, it’s hereditary, apparently.
I didn't know what today was, as in, was it a Monday, Tuesday, Friday, a weekend day? I had no idea. Or the thought that I needed to be somewhere. Or the possibility of someone expecting me to be somewhere. Or even the embarrassment that I was meant to be entertaining someone? Perhaps it wouldn't be the brightest idea to pour myself another. However, this is Glenlivet we're talking about, and it deserves respect. It isn't something that can be cast aside and forgotten about. It has to be enjoyed. It's begging to answered. What would the distillery factory think of me if I were to place it back where it belongs? In that dark, dry and silent drink cabinet of mine. I wouldn't be worthy of drinking it again if I were to throw it back in there. What would my dad think of me?
“Argh, damn you Glenlivet!” I say out loud. Just as I did towards my television earlier on, but this time irrationally, immorally, ignorantly.
“Oh what to do?” I further went on to ask myself.
And then, as if a paranormal entity reached out and handed me a letter of advice, I remembered something my dad once told me, it went like this:
“First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.” I think a certain Mr Fitzgerald said that.
"Technology." I mutter to myself, whilst at the same time rolling my eyes, and letting out a gentle huff of frustration.
I find these situations particularly annoying, in the sense that everything is where it's meant to be, all plugged in nicely, each socket connected like it should be, power surging from the mains, everything in order, everything set up correctly! So why this message? 'Check signal cable.' Why does it continue to mess with my mental state of mind?
“Argh, damn you technology!” I exclaim psychotically.
I then scrutinize the evil message one more time on my television screen, then turn away briskly, darting into the kitchen.
It's mid-morning on a blustery winter’s day. We've just rolled into the month of December, although I feel like it’s still November, as for me personally, I don't tend to keep track of days, dates and months; they all seem to roll into one.
The clock in my kitchen says its quarter past eleven and I find myself vacantly staring at a bottle of Glenlivet. It's half full, or half empty; whichever way around people choose to determine the contents of something. I however, just see single malt scotch whiskey at its finest. I decide instantly to get a glass, after all, that damn technology debacle in my living has sent me over the edge, so a generous drop of smooth, warming Scottish malt should calm my soul from any technological worries.
“Ah, that's better.” I say to myself contently, after sampling the first sip.
“Such a wonderful whiskey”. I further add, as I stare incredulously at the straw coloured liquid. And if you look closely, there is a soft greenish tint to the poison, which has now begun to fascinate my senses even more.
“What a brilliant drink!” I say out loud, as I go in for my second slurp.
“Where did I put the bottle?” I say instantaneously after the golden blend happily slides into my oesophagus. As I would thoroughly like to know a little more about this said 'Holy water.'
I find it next to the toaster, grab it frantically and begin to read the reverse label.
“How fascinating.” I mutter to myself, as I unconsciously complete a Hat-trick of sips, celebration free.
I continued to read the liquors blurb, whilst standing with bottle in one hand and glass with contents in another, and somehow 'Check signal cable' enters my mind, and I immediately burst into hysterical laughter.
'Hahahaha!!” I chuckled somewhat dementedly.
“Who's laughing now technology? Check signal cable, I'll show you 'check signal cable'.” I shouted, as I went in for a forth sip, admirably.
I must have poured a triple, perhaps even a quadruple, as there's still a little of the splendid stuff left in my glass. See it off, I ultimately decide.
“Gulp!” And it was gone.
Well, what was in my glass. There was over a third left in the bottle, as I debated pouring myself another. A quick glance at the clock.
“Eleven thirty three”. I muttered in an Irish accent.
“Not even noon, and I've had two doubles already.” I unwillingly mentioned to myself out loud.
What would my mother think if she could see me now? My dad would be proud, but he passed away many years ago, it was the booze you see, it’s hereditary, apparently.
I didn't know what today was, as in, was it a Monday, Tuesday, Friday, a weekend day? I had no idea. Or the thought that I needed to be somewhere. Or the possibility of someone expecting me to be somewhere. Or even the embarrassment that I was meant to be entertaining someone? Perhaps it wouldn't be the brightest idea to pour myself another. However, this is Glenlivet we're talking about, and it deserves respect. It isn't something that can be cast aside and forgotten about. It has to be enjoyed. It's begging to answered. What would the distillery factory think of me if I were to place it back where it belongs? In that dark, dry and silent drink cabinet of mine. I wouldn't be worthy of drinking it again if I were to throw it back in there. What would my dad think of me?
“Argh, damn you Glenlivet!” I say out loud. Just as I did towards my television earlier on, but this time irrationally, immorally, ignorantly.
“Oh what to do?” I further went on to ask myself.
And then, as if a paranormal entity reached out and handed me a letter of advice, I remembered something my dad once told me, it went like this:
“First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.” I think a certain Mr Fitzgerald said that.