It was one of those days where you go to Webster at 10 am and leave at 10 pm. After surviving most of the day on Zielpunkt sandwiches and the generosity of the Webster University Snack Machine, my only thought was getting home and getting some real food into my system.
Driving through the ominous streets of Floridsdorf, something struck me as odd. The streets seemed darker and more deserted than usual at this time. Deserted streets are not unusual in this neighborhood, since strolling through the 21st District at eleven in the evening gives you an ideal opportunity to get yourself robbed or be assaulted by wannabe gangster kids, or shouted at by drunken Rapid hooligans.
But still, something made the homely gloom seem more threatening than usual.
After a glance at the pitch-black apartment buildings, it hit me. Power outage. Excellent. After finding a parking spot and entering the heavenly dump I call home, I contemplated what to do. The hole in my stomach demanded filling, yet there is little you can cook up without electricity.
Hmmm. Cornflakes? Hell no. I demand meat. Plus, at this stage, eating cornflakes is like feeding a pack of tic-tacs to a starving army battalion at Verdun. Another sandwich? Possibly. Yet somehow the crimson pink veins in the desiccated ham killed that idea. Also the bread I had left over would have served to fracture a few skulls and possibly my teeth. I tossed the battle-bread into the trash with a loud thud. So…
Ah! I can order out—Oh. Right. The pizza place does not have a cell-phone number. Damn. Oh well. I’ll just treat myself to a pack of cigarettes and a glass of exquisite, cool tap water.
Sitting in my living room and puffing away in the darkness, I had no other source of entertainment other than my tired mind. You don’t realize how dependent you are on technology until something like this happens. And I’m one of those people who doesn’t watch too much TV. I mean, I don’t even have an Internet connection at home. What would all the tech-junkies do if they would be left without electricity? Commit collective suicide?
A term flashed into my brain defining our technological addiction. "Techadence." Hm. That sounds pretty cool. Too bad no one’s around to hear it.
Right then, a low hum pierced the silence. A sound you normally wouldn’t even perceive, but absolute silence makes our hearing aware of even the slightest little sound. Incredulous, I looked at my TV. The small red light flashed on. I stormed into the kitchen. Techadence? Who cares. I was into power.