The Fantasy Of Pager-cide

There are obvious ways to murder a pager.  A big hammer is immensely satisfying, for instance.  Running over it with a car a couple of times, forward and backward, or backward then forward, is less satisfying.  I want to hear that crunchy sound up close.

I don’t think I am a violent person by most measures.  I can talk a good violent talk but hesitate when it comes to execution.  That’s why it’s pure fun to fantasize, especially in my current state of post-operation-getting-over-anesthesia, alternating between pain and painkiller-induced light headedness, and disorientation followed by brief periods of lucidity.  Having just had knee repair surgery, it’s good to sit/lie around in body, wonder and wander in mind.

Of course, the poor pager is totally innocent; it’s only the symptom.  But where would I go to vent my years of frustration with what this pager has done?  It bugs me daily, and frequently twice daily, for no serious reason other than, “this is to inform you that **** is up and running,” i.e. “this is to tell you there is nothing important to tell you.”  There have been periods where we couldn’t escape the noise even on Saturdays and Sundays.

Poor little thing!

Poor little thing!

This is not my pager, and that’s why I can afford to bad mouth it.  It’s my dear husband’s; part of his job is to be informed of the status of this one contentious (and cantankerous) facility.  However, there is the situation of “being over-informed” or even “over-concerned,” both in individuals and in organizations.  And in both cases, it can amount to a choking or suffocating environment for humans.  People in the organization who are on the list for this facility’s updates have been treating the daily multiple beeps like part of the meaningless white noise background.  It’s as if, for each announcement, there is first a warning announcement that the announcement is coming before the actual announcement.

I am typically spared the late afternoon update since my husband is still two hours away from coming home for dinner.  But the 7AM alarm has inadvertently woken me up enough times that I see red, or steel, in this case.  We hope that in the coming weeks, this pager will transition to history in our home life.  Even my husband’s stepping down/aside/backward/forward has been taking months, and is still not totally resolved.  Everything seems to creep and crawl.  There are too many failings within this otherwise remarkable organization with thousands of brilliant minds.

Poor little pager has been unfairly caught in my sideline frustration and wrath.  It’s a perfectly innocent device — the pager, that is — that’s been so abused as to lose its original meaning and function, i.e. sending truly urgent messages.  Were it not government property I’d be happy to dispose of it and give it a proper burial.  Since I cannot really kill it, I can only fantasize the murder.

Drop it in the toilet (and I am not fishing it out for anybody).  Trebuchet it over the canyon.  Blow it out of a potato gun.  Dissect it bit by bit, and send bundles via snail mail to some grand poobahs.  I feel better now.

The fog of my mind will, hopefully, recede more rapidly in the coming week.  I need to find a more comfortable workstation to accommodate the bulky CPM (continuous passive motion) machine for my knee.  In other words, I aim to write on more serious, or thornier, issues.  Till next week,

Staying Sane and Charging Ahead.

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