On The Gold Coast: Beep
Judith Wallis's life is ruled by beeping machines and appliances. Is this a blessing - or should we be worried?
Beep-beep. From deep within snug warmth of my bed I stretch out an arm and hit the alarm button quickly drawing my hand back out of the cold. But the sound continues. Beep-BEEP.
‘Oh no’, I groan and hoisting the blankets firmly over my ears I bury myself beneath the covers. The room is dark and the pale dawn light filtering in beneath the blind makes little impression on a sleepy mind that clings to the belief there is another hour of sleep available.
BEEP-BEEP. My head beneath the pillow, I close my eyes. BEEEP-BEEEEEEE… Drat and a few more terse words are muttered as I throw back the blankets and pad across the carpet, the hallway and, guided by the incessant sound, find the offending alarm clock. Its owner, a large mound beneath the bedclothes, snores gently, undisturbed by either sound or my presence. The touch of a finger brings silence.
Now fully awake I dress and having loaded the washing machine, busy myself in the kitchen preparing breakfast. I am searching the refrigerator for a small box of strawberries when the microwave oven calls with cheerful tone ‘Beep-beep, beep-beep’ which is a microwave message meaning, your food is ready.
My hands cupped about the bowl, I am carrying the steaming oats to the table when the refrigerator demands I close its door. ‘BEEP. BEEP. BEEP’. The order is clear. Shut it. Now!
I am about to enjoy my first mouthful of breakfast when a high pitched ‘B-beep B-beep’ message from the machine in the laundry tells the washing is ready to hang out. Food first I think. You can wait. You can wait? What am I saying ? Have these machines taken on personalities because they have a voice?
The front door bell rings. ‘Bing-bong’. ‘Parcel Post,’ calls a pleasant human voice. The deliverer is backing his van down the drive before I reach the door. I know because I can hear the beep beep beep of the backing signal.
Outside on the front verandah I pick up the parcel and call ‘Good morning’ to my neighbour who is leaving for work. ‘Beautiful day,’ he says as he points the remote at his car. The car responds with a throaty frog like ‘BLURP’ which translated from car talk means, I have unlocked the door. ‘Thanks mate,’ says the owner as he brushes a speck of dust from the boot and climbs into the driver’s seat.
This little exchange set me thinking of all the things, and I repeat, things, in my home that communicate a message with sound. The television, computer and printer and the little gizmo that makes toasted sandwiches, they all signal their readiness to begin work and sign off when they have finished. I am surrounded by binging and bleeping signals which, more often than not, I obey.
Does this mean we are already at the foretold point in history when machines with voices come to take over our lives? And if this is so, am I blessed or cursed by the beeps in my life and is my response to their commands controlled by pressure or pleasure? If I wish to be in control I must choose pleasure and view the machines as assistants rather than allowing them to attain, if only in my mind, the role of commander.
As the years accrue, my ability to uphold the concept that women are naturally capable of attending to ten things at once has weakened slightly and all those big and little beeps are timely reminders of the things I am supposed to be doing instead of typing away at the keyboard.
Yes, the beeps are a blessing but with so many around I cannot help but wonder if my future great-grand children will greet their adoring parents for the very first time, not with dadda or mumma, but beep-beep.
