This afternoon, at precisely three-forty-one in the afternoon a man walked into a white goods store. You know, the one on Bank Vault Boulevard next to the new donut shop. The “goods,” if you could call them that, were not all white, though a select few might be described as off-white. The man, middle-aged and grumpy, suffered from a mild case of hemorrhoids. He also experienced a different kind of pain that stemmed from a highly receding hairline.
“False advertising,” says he to himself with a terrible frown. His disenchanted gaze rested heavily on all of the products as his head panned left to right over the myriad brightly lit displays. An observant observer might notice that there were microseconds during this moment when his eyes fell an ounce or two lighter than his normal, unhappy gaze. One might construe the reason to be that in those moments, the goods his irritated gaze rested on were more aptly named “white goods.”
Despite the plethora of non-white goods, he was in the mood to spend some of his hard earned sats, and after days of research he believed that this store had a slightly higher chance of carrying in stock, that which he wanted to purchase. It was after all, the day after Thanksgiving.
[Black Friday. White goods,] he thought, noting the contrast of words, colors, and shopping seasons.
After his initial scan, his bearded neck retraced its course for a moment. There, ahead of him lay the computing devices in all their computational glory. His legs churned again, moving efficiently toward the three aisles that might host the object of his desire. The untethered ends of his unbuttoned flannel flapped in his wake, nevertheless, as he neared, he scanned the adjacent signs for clues.
“PCFriend: You’re astute, we compute. Friends?”
The man shook his head with a profound disgust and rolled his eyes. [Dumb slogan, and what’s with the puppy? Can’t just add a furry meat-sack with big eyes to your ad and expect me to buy it.]
“Compu-Tater: Hungry for more computational power? Buy a Compu-Tater today and fill that belly with powerful maths!”
“Fer peets…” he muttered aloud.
The third sign was a subtle pink and only contained the phrase, “I deliver what you desire.”
[What’s this?] His shoes followed his gaze.
As he approached the sales display, the computer gleamed in the light as if winking seductively at him. The screen was beautiful, wide and tall. Its bezel thin, elegant, and a deep blue. The man had never seen such an incredible display. Words froze on his tongue, and only a low whistle emanated unbidden from his lips.
The image, in millions of bright colors, shimmered slightly. It was a mountain lake, cool and clean. Wisps of summer breeze played on its surface, causing ripples. Its banks were loaded with evergreen trees that rose like majestic pikes against the sky, proclaiming the wonder of a free summer. The man heard a whisper from his past.
“Remember summers on the dock at White lake?” The words silently washed over his mind.
A dock materialized. Children ran with cries of joy, thumping down the boards before leaping and sailing into the waters with satisfying splashes.
“I can jump farther than you!” the man mouthed without making a sound. His eyes gazed intently at the display, yet they saw something far off, through the computer and into distant time and space.
Tap. Tap tap.
“Sir?”
With a slight start, the man’s eyes focused and his head turned. “Uh, yeah?”
“Is there anything I can show you?” The voice came from a very thin, young man with a prominent adam’s apple. His curly, blonde hair perched atop his head like a bird’s nest and it bobbed as he spoke.
Though he was middle-aged and a total grumpster, the man recovered quickly.
“Hey, thanks. I uh- I was just looking at this model right here.” His finger swept nonchalantly toward the blue-bezeled beauty.
“Oh, the Debonair XL good choice. These are really popular right now. In fact,” the young man stepped back slightly and gazed at the shelving under the display bench. “Oh right. In fact, we only have two of them left.” He stuck our his bony hand. “Name’s Joel by the way.”
The man took Joel’s hand loosely and let go too late, his soft hand leaving a weird sheen of awkwardness. “Uh, Damien.” He eyed the price tag and nodded to himself. “They get pricier every year, don’t they?”
“They do,” said Joel nodding sagely. “Fortunately, they also get so much more capable. This one is three-point-eight times faster than last year’s model, which is saying something.” He whistled. “PC Fab Mag rated last year’s model as the PC of the year. I expect this one will receive the same accolades.” Joel lovingly ran his finger over the sleek bezel.
Damien glanced at the screen again and heard an echo as the lake shimmered. “Well,” Damien said confidently and without looking at Joel, “I suppose I’ll take one.”
Joel, smiled understandingly. “Yes sir.” He crouched to look at the two boxes under the display. “Do you need any cables or accessories? We’re offering half-off on an Ortan Tanny digi-scope.” He stood holding a box.
Damien shook his head without considering. Only one thing was on his mind, and he had decades of experience dismissing the never-changing schemes of sales folk.
“It looks like both of these are the brushed teal color. You still want to pick one up?” Joel set the box on the counter.
Damien eyed the box, it’s professional design and images displayed the same machine that sat in front of him, but it was a subtle, textured teal. His eyes swung back to the model and weighed the rich blue against the misty teal. He could still hear the echoes of children playing faintly.
[I think it’ll be fine.]
“Uh, yeah. Sure. That’s fine.”
Joel smiled. “Yes sir. Same machine. I’ll get you right over here.”
###
When Damien got home, he ignored the cat. He ignored the smell of burnt cheese and bacon grease. He only spared a quick glance at the beef jerky scattered like confetti on the coffee table. Into the basement he went.
In two minutes, his desk was clean and ready to go. The old PC with its chunky, black tower ceased its whirring and cowered silently in the corner next to the door. The unboxing began. Each layer specifically designed to expose more and more joy. Damien felt excitement in his bones as he set aside the thin, quick-start pamphlet and the power cord. The computer was encased in a pressed, cardboard clam-shell, which he slid out of the box. The clam-shell opened, and carefully, Damien placed the PC face down on the desk.
He was a capable man, having under his belt years of fixing broken toys and assembling various household goods. In a few seconds, he had a flat head and a phillips screw driver ready. With a gentle stuttering sound, the cellophane came away from the back of the PC casing and revealed the glossy teal plastic. The desk stand was attached to the back with four mid-sized screws, and finally…. the Debonair XL rested on its own one leg.
Damien picked a corner of the cellophane on the front and pried it away with a fingernail. He had learned long ago to avoid knives and other sharp objects that marred the surface and caused a moment of internal remorse. With a careful but satisfying riiiip he pulled it off. Then he plugged in the power cord, keyboard, and mouse and stood back.
[I’ll have to install some things and get the printer set up… but later.] A momentary thrill shot up Damien’s spine. He remembered the sound of children’s voices, sun, and water. Subconsciously, he needed this suave, teal, rectangle to deliver.
He touched the button on the top-right of the screen. The button turned green and then the screen blinked and displayed a message.
DEBONAIR XL
It was a fancy logo that somehow contained the essence of motion. Damien’s lips curved imperceptibly into a smile as his anticipation elevated to a new peak.
Over the course of five seconds, the logo disintegrated into a cloud of rainbow colored sparks. When it had completed, a form asked him his name. With impatience, he typed “D-man.” It asked for a password, and he provided one: “hemorrhoids are terrible.” The machine paused for a few seconds and then moved on, and Damien frowned.
[Wifi? Come on. Death by a thousand cuts!] He knew that he was being impatient, but he could practically feel the sun on his toes and the rough dock on the flats of his feet.
“Leaving your worries behind…” the screen told him.
His eyes itched from staring, and a clatter came from behind him. He blinked and turned. The cat had followed him down and perched on the old, boxy tower. The power cord lay on the floor where it had fallen. Damien sighed and turned.
The screen was brightly lit and produced a beautiful, full-screen image in millions of sharp colors. His breath caught.
Rolling, pure white sand dunes stretched into the distance. The later afternoon sun accentuated the contour lines as sand inaudibly swirled in mysterious patterns.
Damien’s frown grew up and turned into a full-fledged adult.
He wondered in the silence. [Where is the lake?]
There was no response. No calling of children. No swimming or laughing. Not even the footprint of Bantha as might be found in the dunes of Tatooine.
He tapped the keyboard and the image dimmed and asked for his password. He grudgingly gave it, all while glaring at the slim, teal keyboard. Then, with a final tap on the [Enter] button, the screen flickered, blinked three times and displayed the same image.
Rolling dunes, white, sun, etc. This time with a few icons.
“Support,” he muttered. “Sure.”
He clicked the teal mouse on the icon marked “Support” and waited until the browser loaded. It asked him for his name. He glared and type “Damien.” It asked him for his location. He declined profusely while grunting unintelligibly under his breath. Finally, as his blood pressure neared stroke levels, he answered two more questions and received a chat box.
“Image of lake surrounded by evergreen trees.”
“…”
“Are you wishing to buy tickets to the LA Lakers?”
Damien’s mouth unexpectedly barked a light curse as if he had been diagnosed with tourette syndrome. To be sure, he would not be proud of it later… but he did it. Then he sighed loudly and aggressively typed a new message as if he were instructing a deaf and mute village idiot.
“Why does my Debonair XL not have the image of a lake surrounded by evergreen trees?”
“… Connecting …”
After a long moment, he received a reply.
“Good afternoon, Damien! My name is Alice. How may I help you?”
Damien clenched his fists and typed again with shaking hands.
“Why does my Debonair XL not have the image of a lake surrounded by evergreen trees?”
“…”
“The image that ships with each Debonair XL is randomly chosen, but you do have the option to personalize that image.”
[Okay, that seems reasonable.] His fingers, adept at computer work, clicked around quickly. [Yes. Options, personalize, background…] He scrolled through the list of available images, each one with the Debonair XL logo stamped in the the upper-right corner.
“Alice, the lake image isn’t one of the options.”
“…”
“Damien, let me check our documentation. One moment.”
Damien didn’t reply. He stewed. He pulled up his chair and sat, staring with indignation at the screen.
“…”
“… I believe the image you are looking for is not available.”
“Why?”
“That image is only shipped with the store demonstration models.”
Damien put his hands on his face and replayed the entire purchase experience through his mind in an instant.
“Can I buy the store model?”
“…”
“Unfortunately, the store demonstration models are loaded with special software and cannot be sold.”
Damien leaned back and then switched his gaze between his old computer and the new one. [This one does seem fast… but the old one works just fine.]
“…”
“Is there anything I can assist you with today?”
Damien huffed, but he couldn’t blame Alice, if that was even her real name.
“No. Thanks.” He clicked the Exit button and the chat disappeared.
His spirit sank. The room was silent except for a slight whirring noise from the Debonair XL’s fan and the sound of his cat licking one of its back legs. He glanced at the old computer. He turned back to the new one. The screen didn’t seem as bright, and the ultra-white of the sand dunes hurt his eyes.
He muttered only partly to himself. “Only available on the model. What kind of clown-college outfit do these idiots run?”
The cat raised its head, but it did not reply.
