I declare war on blinks and bings

Lately I have been wondering whether heaven takes into account the enormous additional stresses human beings have to endure as a result of modern technology.

Can we, for example, expect some sort of dispensation for having to work with computers and be allowed into heaven in spite of contemplating homicide when our internet connections give nasty little electronic burps and die?

I have decided to fight back against the dicatorship of gadgetry.

I have no idea how to win any sort of battle with a computer, never mind one which I am completely reliant on to earn a living. In spite of the despicable way my PC treats me, any sort of retribution on my part would be tantamount to shooting myself in the head to get rid of a migraine.

So, I’ll launch my fight-back on a more modest scale by waging war against all those ubiquitous little electronic eyes that watch me incessantly, stare me down, and occasionally give vent to shrill screams to get my attention and spur me into action.

Let’s face it, we have to fight back or be damned. Damned to an eternity of control over our lives by gadgets and gimmicks, and to Hades for losing our tempers and becoming thoroughly nasty human beings.

Ever wondered why you keep waking up at all hours of the night? It is possibly because your bedroom is a virtual fairyland of lights. Your cellphone winking acknowledgment that it is indeed connected to a network; your burglar alarm console blinking assurance that all its little infrared devices are also blinking away in every room in the house; your alarm clock assaulting your eyes with those brightly lit colons telling you that your life is ebbing away second by second, and your neighbour’s two million candlepower automatic security lights flashing into life every time the next door cat walks past to check out the dustbin.

Small wonder that you wake up in the morning feeling like something that pesky cat found in the dustbin.

Then the little beeps and buzzers get to you. They tell you your electric shaver needs recharging, that your scrambled egg is microwaved, that the kettle has boiled, and that your cellphone has a dozen or so messages already.

You escape to your car to find you’ve been followed, even to this once private refuge. An array of lights that would do justice to a 747 dashboard tells you that everything from the alternator to the fuel pump is doing what it is supposed to do.

A strident bong complains that you haven’t fastened your seatbelt, another bong tells you your boot isn’t closed properly, and yet another bong whacks you on the ear drum to warn you that in two weeks time your car is going to need a minor oil service.

Once I had a car that kept bonging away to warn me about black ice on the road. Which would have been awfully thoughtful, had it not been mid-summer in Johannesburg.

Assuming you actually get to work without having been hooted off the road by a phalanx of combi taxis, for the next eight hours office equipment is going to bing, bong, ping, clang and bleep you into a state of electronic stupor.

Now it is time to fight back.

It’s quite simple really. All you need is a little screw driver and a pair of wire cutters to surgically remove all the little lights and chop the vocal chords of all the buzzers and bleepers.

All that darkness and silence will be hellish for a while. But you can get used to it by reminding yourself that all those lights and noises were put there in the first place because of the gadget manufacturers’ belief that consumers are stupid.

There is something else I have been very aware of lately: the solace religion can bring to lives that are increasingly tested by the advance of technology and the pressures of modern living. And the thought that it must be really tough these days not to have faith.