Echo Chamber

I sit and stare at the black back of the computer screen, separating me from him.

My friendly customer service rep taps away at his phone. ‘Friendly customer service’ is a bit generous if I’m being honest. Somewhat indifferent, somewhat efficient customer service?

We’ve exchanged a cursory couple words and he’s now (I hope) sorting the new sim card for our brick phone.

We are here, in the most sterile of corporate environments. Red and white advertisements paint the walls, special offers and discounts outlined in block letters. Everyone using a cell phone in the ads is having the time of their lives.

Maybe I should get one, life would be a non-stop party

A red digital #17 stares back at me, though I didn’t take a number when I came in due to a lack of knowing it was necessary.

There is no music.

And in fact, not a sound above the low hum of the cooling unit.

He holds his phone up to my face and motions for me to take off my toque.

Smile

I’m sorry?

Smile

And he holds the camera up to my face, just close enough to make me feel even more uncomfortable. I’ve already provided my passport and offered a digital photo, but for some unknown reason he needs a pic on his own phone.

We don’t always own ourselves

in this day and age.

A random human, who didn’t even introduce himself, has a collection of portraits on his phone along with a few copies of my passport.

It’s uncomfortable

but it’s also the cost of doing business in these modern times.

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