The Sweet Smell of Access

 

There was this one time I was watching the world’s premier cellist, Isaac Strum, stroke his strings like an untamed banshee at center stage, maniacally plucking his way through Bach. This begs the question: are banshees ever domesticated to be bought and sold as pets, where small children and large adults alike can rub their bellies or engage in harmless games of fetch? Who knows? Just as Strum reached the finale, where in between measures he'd break his cello over one knee and set it on fire in a Hendrixian blaze, I received a work email. 

While a strange man (Igor, is that you?) with a stranger accent (Estonian, is that it?) requested everyone in the audience turn their phones to silent prior to the performance, access is my superpower. Without it, I’m simply another writer with a laughable understanding of the English language, shirking grammar for style at every turn. My real strength is the ability to get to you first. Others in the crowd deemed the email unimportant – it was a colleague letting me know they’d be five minutes late to a meeting the next day. But what these stringed saps didn’t realize was that all my emails are of equal importance. The spam, the scams, the notes from Grandma. All are seen through the same light – in this case, the faint flickering of cheap candles. Strum was furious, but hey, waiting until the end of the performance, while polite, would’ve been rude to my coworker, opening his soul and admitting future tardiness. That took courage. Playing a 400-year-old piece from a wig-wearing wacko does not. 

There was this other time I was traveling with a group of mountaineers approaching what’s playfully referred to as the “Death Zone,” when I noticed a text from Seamless altering me to a $5 perk on my next meal. Much to the chagrin of my compatriots who thought the altitude was finally getting to me, I barreled down the mountain, practically tasting my discount burrito on the way. It took a few days to get home, and by that time, the perk had expired, but I have no regrets. It was a “life experience.” 

How can I forget the time I was playing a game of high stakes golf with the leader of a former Soviet bloc country when I saw number I didn’t recognize. I did the prudent thing and answered it. It was automated, naturally. That didn’t stop me from staying on the line until the voice of an actual human being piped up. Before you knew it, the leader – let’s call him Yuri – had been deposed and I was recommending bocce as a pastime more suited to diplomacy.

Pocket dials, accidental texts, and unnecessary emails give my life meaning. They allow me to escape any situation. Duty calls, and not always the most opportune moments. Answer first, deal with the blowback later. It’s worked for me. 

So far.