Every so often, I think back to the world I grew up in. That world where you got out of your chair and changed the channel using a knob on the TV. It wasn’t such an inconvenience, because there were 4 channels in Edmonton – 2 local channels, and the CBC in English and in French.
That world where when someone was on the phone and it rang busy, you called them back in a few hours. Where if they weren’t home, you called back. The world where your mother made you carry a quarter, so you could use the payphone if you needed to. The world where you went to the library and talked to a person to find an encyclopedia to look things up.
Maybe it’s not entirely my fault that I find the pace of this world a bit dizzing. It’s just that, well. . .
I’m confused. Mr. Spit’s Visa number went to Dubai. It stayed in a pretty nice hotel for 7 nights, and I’m guessing from the statement, it had itself a pretty good time, doing what ever it is you might do in Dubai.
And that’s, well, I guess that’s the world we live in. It just seems so remarkable. It seems remarkable that while Mr. Spit’s Visa went to Dubai, Mr. Spit did not. At least, even in this modern world, I know he slept next to me each night, and I’m still pretty sure technology advances aside, he still couldn’t have been sleeping next to me and sleeping in Dubai. (I’m right about this, yes? He can’t sleep in 2 places at once?)
Perhaps the very remarkable thing is that Mr. Spit’s Visa number went, but Mr. Spit’s Visa stayed at home, in his wallet. We checked last night, and yes, it’s there, snugged next to the bank card (which no doubt is off to France next week).
I don’t think I quite understand how to live in a world where a Visa number can get on a plane, fly all by its self to a foreign country (I’m reasonably certain it doesn’t have a passport? At least I know I didn’t drive it get its picture taken and I don’t remember agreeing to give it a reference) and stay in a hotel all by itself, and no one thinks to call its owner, until the bill comes.