The Black Hole

Has anyone seen my other sock, or my internet?
Socks. Keys, sometimes. Requests at a restaurant for a lemon in your water or a side of extra sauce that just never arrive.

We all know where these things go. They go into this dark place.

Well, if you live here, in the United Kingdom, and you move from one flat to another, your request for basic technical services also, it seems, land in here.

Like “Hi. British Telecom? Yeah, hi. In a couple weeks, I’ll be moving down the road, four doors down. I need to move my phone. Date? 18 of July. Great. Thanks.”

But alas. As we all know, it is a futile, sad attempt at believing all will be well.

In Africa, they have what are called Third World countries: poverty, tribes often still living a similar existence that generations of their ancestors did for thousands of year.

In the more developed areas of Asia and North America, it’s the First World, metal and plastic and speed.

Here is the lesser-known “Second Dimension.” Continually trapped in the a varying and ever-changing past decades (some weeks the 50s, other days, the 80s… most days, the Victorian Age), the beleaguered 21st century floats across the surface. It supposed to look like a glossy sheen, but really it’s more like that layer of grease that floats on the water that comes out of the tap here. Eventually, you have to own a filter to deal with everything: the sullen or gutted customer service, the despicable fees for second-hand technology, or, in the case of the water, the pollution.

So if you wonder where I’ve been lately, I’ve been swimming in the Black Hole. Posted by Picasa

Elizabeth Howard

Elizabeth writes literary non-fiction, haiku, cultural rants, and Demand Poetry in order to forward the cause of beautiful writing. She calls London, Kansas City, and Iowa home.