The revised monologue I wrote for college;

“That’s right, I’m a conformist; conforming to the age of despising human interaction in every form. Maybe if murder becomes socially acceptable I should start offing people whenever I don’t get coffee in the morning or if I just miss the bus.”

Exasperation etched itself plainly on the less aged features of the pair, the teenage girl who was at the age where rebellion against everything society threw her way was paramount.

“Don’t start.”

Alas, unfortunately for the girl and those unlucky enough to be in the near vicinity, the train of thought had already accelerated, the cogs working rapidly in the mind of her Father in what would undoubtedly be another one of his spiels.

“Has no-one seen Terminator? What if one day the machines get tired of scanning vegetables and decide to rise up and overthrow their human oppressors? Or Wall.E, where humanity became so dependant on technology we all became morbidly obese? Back in my day we only had three channels. Now we have self-checkout machines, HD and a million other unnecessary technological advancements. Do we really need a machine to scream at us and take jobs from people who need money?”

A sarcastic remark began it’s inception from the girl’s bank of verbal insults- the ones usually directed towards her fathers ones involving his age- but before it fell from parted lips, the chime of her mobile indicated a message. Retrieving it and glancing at the text, she heard the sound of her Father’s derisive scoff, one that practically begged to be the subject of a heated glare.


“Is the world going to end because you didn’t check your phone? Look around; half of the people here are on their phones, and they’re with people. Social networking? Don’t make me laugh. There’s nothing sociable about hunching over a tiny screen, ignoring whoever you’re with.”

“We’re talking to other people, Dad.”

“That’s like saying you’re playing golf with one of those simulator things. It’s not the same thing, is it? You can’t judge body language through a text, you can’t hear someone laughing at a joke you made. How do you know if they put a lol at the end that they actually laughed? I’m telling you; mobile phones are a curse. If there comes a day where they don’t exist anymore, your generation will have to learn how to actually talk to each other.”

The Father’s outpouring had seemed to extend the wait in the queue, what with his booming condescension and her hissed retorts, it seemed to take an eternity before they had finally reached the pinnacle of the queue, and were now approaching the manifestation of all the wrongdoings with this technological age; the self-checkout machine.

And it only took approximately four seconds before the first of many frustrated yells of, “It’s in the goddamn bagging area!”


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