COME BACK PONTIUS PILATE
ALL IS FORGIVEN

The next time we spoke I was frazzled because I’d completed two thirds of the vacuuming but couldn’t finish because the hose that connects the nozzle to the mainland kept falling off and I eventually got fed up and capitulated, with plans to consign this machine to the Goodwill pile and buy a new one the next weekend. I was fed up with this three year old gadget. You wouldn’t expect to have to rebuild your wheels every time you drive, and there’s a reason cars are sold fully assembled. And what would it cost to add a sensor to tell the user when the bag needs to be replaced?

Maybe the vacuum cleaner had a psychotic break and couldn’t function like normal, or maybe it got the yips. In any event, the carpet would remain conspicuously two thirds cleaned for six more days, but I could start my conversation 10 minutes ahead of schedule. I was so stressed about the bogus contraption that I forgot I had already identified this design fault months earlier.

‘What’s that in the background?’ I asked. I could hear music, but it was barely perceptible.

‘Sting,’ she replied, with a concise and terse reply.

‘Sting,’ I repeated. ‘Very tasteful.’ But then it stopped. ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Too distracting to you?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘It was automatic background to the story I was reading, but I clicked on a link which looked intriguing, and got this message: “You’ve reached your limit of free articles this month.” The music then stopped.’

‘I hate it when that happens,’ I said, ‘but if it was about psych, I’m sure you wrote the book, or read it.’

‘Not this time,’ she admitted. ‘It was about spring gardening.’

‘I should have known,’ I admitted, and maybe she does own a net-zero FlyMow. ‘But I have a riddle for you. What do you call Mexican fast food which is entirely plant based?’

‘I give up,’ she said, ‘tell me,’ being more interested in the ending than in guessing.

‘Taco Hell,’ I explained dryly. ‘And what do you call Mexican fast food which isn’t plant based?’

‘Also Taco Hell?’ she did guess.

‘Very good. A quick thinker. How about Mexican fast food that talks back?’ I asked, meaning that repeats on you, like broccoli or aubergine.

‘You got me on that one,’ she accepted.

‘That would be Taco Hello,’ I explained, though I stretched out the “Hello” to imitate a spicy food-repeating feeling. ‘And if it sang rather than talked it could be Taco Adele.’

‘You called just to tell bad jokes about Mexican food?’ she asked, ‘or bad jokes about indigestion, or bad jokes in general?’

‘Take your pick,’ I said, ‘though no, not really. I had a bad day at the office and I sort of needed to vent.’

‘Why, what happened?’ she wondered.

‘Good and bad things come in threes,’ I began. ‘We have two printers in the office. The main printer ran out of toner and Ned said I was the fourth person to point it out to him. He said it’s been ordered but all their customers have been ordering all of a sudden and it will take a few days to arrive …’

‘They don’t have a closet for things like this, for spares?’ she interrogated.

‘No,’ I explained. ‘The cabinet is full of boxes of self sealing window envelopes from Viking Direct, you know, the envelopes with the matte plastic windows in them, for the return address to show through, that won’t ever be used. And someone jammed the backup printer, without telling anyone, and the paper that is stuck can’t be removed without taking apart that machine. And Ned is too busy. And Harris is boss, his boss Harris is too busy gloating in the coincidence of his last name to … it wouldn’t matter, I wouldn’t care, except that before the first machine broke I printed something and someone stole it, someone took their batch which included my two pages and won’t return it to the tray, or for all I know they recycled it, because we have certificates and accolades each month for the employee who recycles the most. And then this happened with the vacuum cleaner. What’s the matter with people? What’s the matter with humanity? Why are people such assholes?’

‘Phew, are you done?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, I am,’ I stated. ‘Needed to offload, on someone who wouldn’t say “why are you telling me this?” or “why are you taking this out on me?” cuz that’s your job, that’s your day job.’

‘Yeah, I suppose,’ she tentatively agreed.

‘Wait,’ I said, ‘I thought of something,’ and moved closer to the computer. A few clicks and U Can’ Touch This was playing, was playing loudly.

‘What the …?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘“What the” indeed. Did you ever watch The Line?’

‘The Line?’ she questioned.

‘The Line? Did I say The Line?’ I asked. ‘I meant The Wire. Did you ever watch The Wire?’

‘Yeah, yup, religiously,’ she replied. ‘Why?’

‘Because it was a game changer,’ I explained. ‘It was game changing TV, and it reminded me of a snippet of TV I caught this morning when I was channel surfing, when I had a few minutes. I wasn’t sure, I’m still not sure whether it was serious, or a spoof, or if it was supposed to be serious but the guest treated his interview spot like a spoof.’

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘What happened?’

‘The guest was discussing someone in the news, either a sports celebrity or an acting celebrity and the comment was: “All he needs is a desert island, a mirror and the book on mental masturbation – which he wrote.” Not sure whether the studio visitor was hoping to come off as brutally honest, humorous or lacking in sensitivity, though I liked the comment, I appreciated it.’

‘Who was the celebrity?’ she asked.

‘That’s the thing,’ I admitted, ‘I can’t remember. But I can remember who the host was, someone pretentious, who had no idea that his repartee-maker was going to make a spectacle of himself, make himself the story, for when the, it’s the other way around. The questioner merely went poh-poh-poh-poh-poh …’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said, as one does. ‘Wait, no,’ she continued, ‘you made that up.’

‘Yeah, I did,’ I disclosed. ‘I do that sometimes, create dialogue as a trial balloon, as trial balloons, trial and error, to see how it goes over, to gauge whether it will work on a larger audience. And?’ I asked.

‘I’ll give it a six,’ she ruled. ‘OK, seven,’ she relented. ‘It wasn’t bad.’

In candor, it wasn’t that good either, but the quality of the source material has decayed. For example, when taking a bold decision, the country’s first female prime minister proclaimed: “You can’t buck the markets.” A few years later, when she was bluntly informed that it was time for her to give way to the new generation, she sighed and conceded that “It’s a silly old world,” which prompted at least one commentator to remark that “You can’t buck silly old worlds.”

The studio invitee proceeded to decry his critics with a “No more poo-pooing of pessimism” and an “It’s empowering being stupid and he should know,” with three guesses about who the intended barbs were directed at, and the first two not counting.

The character was not the spitting image, but was of the breed of actor who played Mr Bean, a super-pundit, a luvvie. Moreover, the radio guest unable to interpret body language is a proponent of free speech, as is Mr Bean. This is ironic because Bean’s unique performance offering is an ability to contort his face in unusually comedic combinations without giving rein to his vocal cords. Why have an opinion about free speech when you don’t yourself speak, when you should be more concerned with the power of speech? Maybe if instead of radio this was a five minute short before the evening news, broadcast in Squiggle Vision.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘This one is real, though. At our last reunion, Spider, remember him?’ I’d forgotten I discussed this previously too, though she hadn’t, and she could tell I was stressed. Maybe it was the cadmium poisoning I caught from him that night. ‘‘He walked up to me and called me a Bloody Wanker. I asked how he knew of this expression and he said it was because he was posted over here in the military for a while. I’d have guessed it was from a program on BBC America, or Codfather & Son.’

‘Spider, yeah, of course,’ she said. ‘What’s his color?’

I had that link open on my computer, and clicked and clicked ‘til I found his page. ‘Blue,’ I said, and went quiet.

‘Blue,’ she repeated.

It was not merely the online version of the yearbook that was visible on this window, because the vendor has to make money somehow, and it lost its early march to other social media ventures. Thus, it sells open system advertising, meaning that a promoter buys space on this platform day by day, the yearbook reproducer being confident about return and often refreshed page views. To judge by my habits, his preconceived notions are on the mark.

In the top right was a promo for a beauty product which would regenerate and endow a silky, smooth skin and in the bottom right, an advanced warning for a lifestyle magazine in which the secrets of the cover celeb’s knockout body will be revealed. Her features are “unreal,” this campaign assures us. I could not agree more. Her body parts are not real, and this m-adman has been driving his Volvo to the wrong data farm.

When I flicked the down arrow to avoid being tempted by this honey’s unreal features, an ad for Exercize Method appeared, causing me to chuckle nervously. Its context and copy prompted for my memory bank a gym I habituated on a pay as you go basis, because I didn’t habituate it frequently enough for a monthly or annual plan to be worthwhile. I was on the stressful job weight loss plan that year, which meant the extra fitness days weren’t strictly necessary. However, the personal trainer Candie was persistent and one of her pitch lines was “It’s only $32 per month, and if you think about it, that’s less than $1 per day.” $32 per month? It was a long time ago.

‘This has been real,’ she indicated after a pregnant pause, not sure if it was pun intended.

‘And it’s been fun,’ I continued.

‘But it hasn’t been real fun,’ we closed in unison.

‘Time for me to go back to herding cats,’ she confessed. ‘Talk to you soon.’

‘It’s the law firm’s turn for your time today?’ I conjectured. I’d have recognized that she was consulting at home, rather than subbing at the law office, had, instead of herding cats she indicated she had to be “putting up the wallpaper” – and imagine me being behind the curve on an irony. I was relieved she had to run, before I took a turn, which transpired not much later.

Our final sign offs were in the end subdued.