It is a little known fact
that remote controls are a leading cause of insanity and suicide in
America. The majority of people who
commit suicide have used a remote control, and most people institutionalized
for mental illnesses also have used a remote control. Is this a statistical fluke or is there a cause and effect
process involved? Remote controls can
be very frustrating tools because they disappear, malfunction and are naturally
complicated.
Remote controls have a
tendency to disappear at the most inopportune times. The smell of freshly popped popcorn wafts on the cool
air-conditioned breeze blowing in from the kitchen. The taste of a well-chilled brew swirls across eager taste buds.
The sound of Big Bird squawking the letter of the day blares from the
television and the big game is about to start.
So where is the remote control?
Where is that little box with its many numbered buttons and sleek ebony
colored plastic factory fashioned case hiding?
The search for the multi-buttoned monster from Silicon Valley’s version
of hell begins. The little plastic encased devil is nowhere in sight. An examination of the area under the
cushions of the couch finds an ill defined gooey mass of molasses-like matter
left behind by some ancient occupant of this second hand piece of
furniture. After using the front of a
favorite well-stained baseball watching T-shirt to clean off the goo, the
process of rearranging the furnishings of the family room begins. The refugee
from an electronic Easter egg hunt must be hiding in one of its usual
haunts. A probe behind the couch,
sifting through the detritus deposited over eons of geologic time, brings no
success. Searching under the easy chair
in an archaeological excavation through artifacts left by a time-forgotten
civilization brings no luck. Rolling up the archaic scrolls of carpet covering
the floors many strata of dust does not prevail. After giving the rest of the house the same treatment, it proves
necessary to revert to the primitive, barbaric practice of changing the channel
manually, only to find the remote control grinning from the top of the
television with its black button teeth like some Hades spawned torturer. A quick change of the television channel is
just in time to hear the announcers exclaim, “That was the most exciting game I
have ever seen!”
Because a remote control has
a mind of its own, it works properly only when in the right mood. The universal remote control, god of all
remote controls, is very finicky. This
deity of the microchip cosmos will, at the slightest provocation, refuse to
function in a useful fashion. Spilling
only a few drops of liquid on the remote control will set off a rage of
biblical proportions causing this wrathful demigod to manifest its vengeance in
the most frightening ways imaginable.
The remote control will, without any human input whatsoever, cause the
television to turn itself on and off rapidly.
The VCR will rewind and fast forward repeatedly. The cable box will cycle through all the
channels. This bizarre behavior by the
remote control will cease only when carefully disassembled and its innards
adoringly swabbed cleaned. Dropping the
remote control can also cause serious headache. The eel-like denizen of the armchair loses its traction in sweat
slick hands. The floor waits in eager anticipation as the remote control
plummets in slow motion towards its untimely demise. With a loud crash, the remote control meets its fate. Shards of plastic and silicon shrapnel explode
into the air. The smell of acrid smoke
brings tears to the eyes. The remote
control god is dead.
Most remote controls have an
overabundance of functions not easily understood. The menu button is a good example. The very name conjures up images of savory dishes simmering on
stovetops, sounds of pots clanging in the kitchen, delectable smells tickling
appetites and flavors to delight the palate.
No food is forthcoming when pressing this button. Although the alternative channel button
might invoke images of crazed musicians involved in unspeakable ritualistic
acts, it will not bring a network of favorite music videos onto the television
screen. The mute button has absolutely no effect on a neighbor’s dog baying at
the moon like a werewolf in a cheap B movie.
The uses of these functions and other obscure operations are found in
the remote control user’s guide. This
tome of useful information can be found with the remote control (see paragraph
two).
Do the hazards of remote
control use outweigh their convenience?
Is it worth risking mental disorder to avoid the walk from the couch to
the television? If the trend toward
insanity and suicide amongst remote control users continues at current rates,
who will be safe?
Steven Spanjer Copyright© 1999