Intrepid voyages with a meter reader
Dec. 4th, 2017 05:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyofastolatThere's an advertisement feature in next week's Radio Times, advertising smart meters. It tells the story of "Radio Times reader Alastair," whose life has been transformed by having one of these things installed. By highlighting the cost of things, it's encouraged him to cut down on wasteful practices, and he's saved a lot of money. All well and good. But the main advantage, we're told, is that he's now got so much more spare time. ("Take back your time," shouts the header of the feature.)
You can almost feel the dread and horror of his account of the bad old days, when the meter reader used to visit in person. "I'd have to go into the garage and root around in order to show people where the meter was." (Oh, the horror!) Now he's been freed from this awful imposition, he's finally got enough free time to pursue new hobbies. Not only does he now have time to draw and paint, he's also free to learn the piano. All this done in time that was previously lost to rooting around in the garage trying to uncover a hidden meter (and then presumably covering it up again, in order to necessitate further rooting around next time.)
How often does a meter reader come? Annually? Once a quarter? Even if only once a quarter, how long - and how traumatic - must the visit take for the sudden lack of it to free up time for piano lessons, drawing and painting? Is it a remote garage, perhaps housed on a rocky islet deep in the North Atlantic? Or is it a subterranean Garage of Horror, full of monsters? ("I kick open the door..." "A mouldering, long-lost mop lurks behind a crate. It jumps out at you, its serpentine locks coiling around its hideous head, dripping slime. Roll for initiative.") Do all who enter it only emerge two months later, traumatised and bleeding, but having gained three levels? But if this is the case, why hasn't Alistair called in pest control to deal with the gargoyles, slime monsters and gorgonic mops? Why has he let this situation go on for so long, regularly consuming whole days of his life in garage-based exploration?
You can almost feel the dread and horror of his account of the bad old days, when the meter reader used to visit in person. "I'd have to go into the garage and root around in order to show people where the meter was." (Oh, the horror!) Now he's been freed from this awful imposition, he's finally got enough free time to pursue new hobbies. Not only does he now have time to draw and paint, he's also free to learn the piano. All this done in time that was previously lost to rooting around in the garage trying to uncover a hidden meter (and then presumably covering it up again, in order to necessitate further rooting around next time.)
How often does a meter reader come? Annually? Once a quarter? Even if only once a quarter, how long - and how traumatic - must the visit take for the sudden lack of it to free up time for piano lessons, drawing and painting? Is it a remote garage, perhaps housed on a rocky islet deep in the North Atlantic? Or is it a subterranean Garage of Horror, full of monsters? ("I kick open the door..." "A mouldering, long-lost mop lurks behind a crate. It jumps out at you, its serpentine locks coiling around its hideous head, dripping slime. Roll for initiative.") Do all who enter it only emerge two months later, traumatised and bleeding, but having gained three levels? But if this is the case, why hasn't Alistair called in pest control to deal with the gargoyles, slime monsters and gorgonic mops? Why has he let this situation go on for so long, regularly consuming whole days of his life in garage-based exploration?
