My TV set is haunted. It’s not that I’m not used to haunted machinery; it’s just that some hauntings are more annoying than others.
In high school, for example, I had an old fashioned, windable alarm clock that used to jump off the night stand. For the longest time I thought I was knocking it off in my sleep because I’d find it on the floor every morning. Until one time I woke up in the middle of the night and watched it jump. I guess a spring was going haywire in there or something, but it was a creepy thing to watch. Like it was committing a nocturnal suicide of sorts.
Now I have haunted stuff that I find sort of endearing, like my printer that clicks and hums at odd times, as if it gets bored with sitting quietly for too long and needs to remind me that it’s there and waiting.
But the haunted TV is too much. It’s not just that it turns itself off on its own. It’s the timing. It has a talent for sensing the absolute climax of a story.
Like on those home shows, just as the people open their eyes to look at their newly remodelled room, and they let out a gasp and the camera just starts to pan so we can finally see the “after” look, and— *PLINK*
So I fumble madly for the remote. If you press buttons enough, sometimes it comes back on. But by the time I get it back on again, all that’s left is a commercial.
Or on mysteries: “Holmes, I must tell you that I believe the killer to be….” *PLINK*
“….Honey, I never told you this, but your REAL father is….” *PLINK*
“….And this season’s winner IS….” *PLINK*
Then the other day, just as the Cute Guy was beginning to emerge from the bathroom clad only in a towel…you guessed it. *PLINK* Like automatic censorship. Or torture.
That does it. I’m all for an appliance with a sense of humor, but that was just mean. No wonder my TV was so cheap. I thought I was getting plasma. Instead I got…ectoplasma!