This time around I am talking about our reliability for everything that is
convenient and our absolute hatred for everything inconvenient.

We as Americans don't like being inconvenienced. In fact, we are now
unwilling to lift a finger unless it's to let another driver know what we
think of him.

You know, I think this whole convenience thing started with the wheel.
Before that gizmo came along people didn't expect anything to be convenient.
Once we were happy in our dank little caves, until we were able to use the
wheel to see that others had caves that were bigger and weren't filled with
as much bat guano as ours. With the wheel came envy, a lowering of our
self-esteem, and greed. Screw you wheel and anything else semi-round you
rode in on.

My favorite convenience is pay-at-the-pump gas stations. Zip in, slide the
card, pump the gas and go

In fact, pumping gas is the only car-related task I will partake in. I'm
proud to say I haven't once opened the hood of my car. For all I know, the
engine runs on the shrieking souls of the damned.

The one convenience I would never give up is ice. I feel this is by far a
better invention than fire. I'm not putting fire down mind you, but I'll
have my meat rare, thank you, if I can get a few frosty cubes in my
cocktail. Any dip-shit on Survivor stuck on a tropical island can make fire.
How many can make ice?

For me, the ATM is the model of modern convenience. It's fairly reliable,
open 24 hours a day. The lines are never very long. It leads me step by step
through the process. Then in less than a minute, it hands me money and
thanks me for taking it. Then, almost as a cherished token of our lovely
time together, it gives me a receipt for the transaction.

The telephone, once one of the most useful inventions for man, has now
become a communication curse for mankind. I think there is something wrong
when you hear a cell phone ring in public and thirty people start patting
themselves down like they've just burst into flame. You know, people on cell
phones are like people on cocaine, except far less likely to shut up.

Now because of technology we can go through the entire day with out ever
talking to a single living person. Which believe me, I look at as a plus. I
would love to be in the middle of a live conversation with someone and be
able to push a star-key on their chest to fast forward to the goddamn point
of their story.

When buying home electronics, I always get the optional warranty. I know
consumer advocates say it's a rip off, but I just don't want to be
inconvenienced. Last week my high-definition big screen went out on me. So I
call the place where I bought it, mention the warranty, and the guy says
they'll fix it for free, but that I have to bring it in. I don't own a
pickup truck or a van, and frankly, people who do scare me. Not only that,
but have you ever tried to lift a big screen high definition television set?
It's extremely top heavy and very awkward. So my friend and I put on safety
goggles, took hammers, and bashed the thing into 763 easily manageable
pieces, which we numbered and put into a shoebox for eventual reassembly,
and transported them to the service desk. Tebbi, the nice man in the New
York Yankees turban, told us it'll be ready in the year Pi.

The clothing company Dockers actually makes a pair of pants with eight
pockets to enable folks to keep their hands free while carrying their wallet,
keys, Starbucks card, MP3 player, palm pilot, two-way pager and cell phone.
You know guys, when you're knocking over small children as you careen down the
street because you're literally crating cargo in your pants, it seems like
the cooler move at that point would be just to bite the bullet and go with
the man-purse.

Now 7-Eleven likes to think that it is a store of convenience, but it's not.
Do you know why it's called 7-Eleven?

The reason they named it "7-11" in the first place, is that there's only
seven parking places and eleven cars at any given time, so you have to
circle the convenience store like a f^(king Indian-oops, excuse me,
"casino-owner American"-- attacking a wagon train. Then, the check-out lines
are always filled with people who feel the need to scratch the silver pants
off the Leprechaun's ass on the "Buck of the Irish" lottery ticket while
still standing at the counter; not to mention the sixteen year old guys
trying to buy hard lemonade using their dead uncle's dog tags from the
Spanish Civil War as ID; and the sheepish couple palming condoms like the
Ace of Clubs in a poker game; or, my personal favorite, the
just-new-to-this-hemisphere guy trying to cash third party checks from
Indonesia written on the back of a leaf that he had wiped his ass with
earlier that afternoon. By the time you get to the register, your coffee's
cold, and your Slurpee's hot, but you were able to jerk off to Hustler in
line, thereby saving yourself the cost of buying it. Now that's convenience.
Clean up in Aisle 2.