When you’re invited to a thing, an event, a party or even a funeral, you typically know those inviting you to their thing…but not always.
As you approach your “senior” years, or find yourself, somewhat inexplicably, smack in the middle of them, you get invited to all sorts of events where a-holes will assist you in taking the money from your bank, and depositing it into their bank. Of course, their finest of shittery is marketed nicely to entice you to show up so they can scare the bejesus out of you from all things that might, could, maybe, possibly happen to you if you don’t sign up for their shyte.
I was recently invited to a FREE seminar by way of a glossy yet utterly boring mailing. There were no photos of stunningly fit seniors laughing, smiling and having a grand ol’ time at the billards table, in the swimming pool, on the putt-putt range, or in the therapeutic metal container where water bubbles would soothe your aching arse at their assisted living facility.
The FREE seminar didn’t include a FREE meal at a fancy steakhouse where you could sign up to experience the joys of immediately depositing your money into their pockets so that they might spread guano on it and make it grow. No, this FREE seminar was about something very specific to me. It was an invitation to a FREE Neuropathy Seminar exclusively for people with nerve damage symptoms.
I looked at the envelope, thinking it was possibly sent to the “current resident” of this crib, but no, it had my name prominetly displayed. How did “they” know that I have peripheral neuropathy and how did “they” know where I lived.
So, I backtracked in my pea-size brain, wondering if maybe I stumbled out upon the downtown streets, a cardboard sign hanging about my chest, telling any and all that I have peripheral neuropathy. I can’t remember such an event, but you know, we seniors can do the craziest of things and don’t remember a hoot about them.
I know I’ve mentioned this lovely little ailment of mine in emails to friends; and Sir Henry, the resident canine here, and the better half who lives here have heard about it probably too many times to count.
It’s been talked about with family over the phone (not a hand-held radiation device) but that’s about it. No banners hanging outside the crib, no planes flying over head, spelling it out in between spraying their concoction of chemical goo upon us all, and no texting about it as I have a hard time remembering how to spell “peripheral” and “neuropathy”. I am, after all, a senior citizen.
But then, the two grey cells in my brain spun together and I remembered reading of the various appliances, phones, TV’s that listen to us, or more appropriately said, spy on us. And what’s more, you can even find the articles listed on the greatest spying search engine of them all…Google.
What Appliances are Spying on Me? – radiationhealthrisks.com
9 Household Products That Could Be Spying On You – abcnews.go.com
These Devices May Be Spying On You (even in your own home) – forbes.com
Now TV’s Are Allegedly Spying on You – usatoday.com
So, there it is. A frickin’ appliance – the fridge, dishwasher, smart meter, TV, phone or other household product turned my ailment over to a tub of morons who want to tell me the latest about peripheral neuropathy – like I don’t already know about it all.
I looked up the clown organization providing the FREE seminar…oddly enough, their site was in “maintenance mode”.
Proper f**kery, indeed.
But after an extensive investigation, and in-depth interviews of all the appliances here at the asylum – I’m quite certain the refrigerator spilled the beans, as the kitchen is where I spend most of my time, bitching about my peripheral neuropathy!
Tonight’s musical offering:
Leonard Bernstein: Candide (overture) – Orquesta Sinfónica de Galicia – Leonard Slatkin, director
Photo credit: http://www.unsplash.com/@nicotitto