Wake-up Call

Awake to the continual beeping of your alarm clock that sits on the machine-painted, fake-wood nightstand and hit the alarm button. Remove the first, second and third layer of sheets and blankets. Slip on your night shoes to protect your fragile feet from the bitter cold floor. Twist the knobs of your glass-room shower and adjust them to the perfect water temperature. Shampoo, rinse. Condition, rinse. Soap, rinse. If it’s a good day, shave. Power off the water with a simple turn. Grab the towel hanging from your metal towel rack, positioned conveniently at the perfect spot inside your glass-room shower so that the water does not reach it even when it is deflected from your body.  Dry body. Wrap body in towel. Brush your teeth with your automatic toothbrush, powered by a rechargeable battery that requires little movement of the hand to guarantee a satisfactory cleaning. Put on underwear, and then pants. Put on undershirt, and then button-up shirt. Spend 5 minutes fixing your tie. Apply product to hair so that it is presentable. Put on freshly-shined shoes. Grab coat. Pass your coffee maker and fridge on the way to the garage. Get into your 4-door SUV.  Stop at Starbucks for coffee poured by someone whose name is unknown. Go ahead, get a piece of coffee cake. Put your Bluetooth in your ear so that you never miss a call, not even in the thirty minutes it takes to get to work. Sit through meetings. Make presentations. Flirt with secretaries. Leave for lunch, don’t forget your Bluetooth! Stop at a restaurant that somehow produces a burger in 3 minutes. Super-size it. Return to work, watch the clock until 5. Leave work (Bluetooth!). Come home to a meal cooked by your wife. Grab a beer from the fridge. Eat your dinner, ask about your wife’s day, ask about your kid's day, think about work, watch TV. Undo your tie, throw your clothes in the plastic laundry basket. “Brush” your teeth again. Wash your face. Change into your pajamas. Set your alarm. Maybe have sex. Go to sleep, in your nice white-picket fence suburban home built from a cookie cutter so as to make it difficult to stand out.

Wake up the next day to news of a tsunami killing thousands and thousands of people, and I hope you will rethink your humdrum life. I hope you will try to feel something genuine.