(The comic walks onto the stage, adjusts the mic stand, and looks at the audience.)
Hey everyone. How are we doing?
I’ve realized recently that I’m not actually an adult. I’m just a toddler with a debit card and back pain. That’s it. That’s the whole experience.
I think the hardest part of modern life is that we have convinced ourselves that we love "convenience." But convenience is just stress in a faster format.
Take self-checkout at the grocery store. Who designed this experience? It’s the only place where I can be a paying customer and an incompetent employee at the same time. I’m scanning my stuff, feeling good, and then I put a single apple in the bag, and the machine screams at me.
"UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA."
It’s so accusatory! It’s like the machine has trust issues. I’m standing there holding a banana like, "I swear, it’s just fruit! I’m not trying to heist the Kroger!"
Then the red light starts flashing. The "Light of Shame." Now I have to wait for the one actual human employee, who is managing twelve robots, to come over. She sighs, swipes a card, and looks at me like I don’t know how gravity works. I didn't steal the apple, Janet, the scale is just gaslighting me!
(Pause for laughter)
And it’s not just the physical world. The digital world is trying to break me, specifically with passwords.
Do you remember when a password could just be "Password123"? Now? You try to create an account to buy socks, and the security requirements are harder than getting into the Pentagon.
"Your password must contain an uppercase letter, a lowercase letter, a number, a special character, and the blood of a virgin."
I’m just trying to buy ankle socks! I don’t need Fort Knox security.
And then, inevitably, I forget the password. So I click "Forgot Password." And the computer says, "Okay, no problem. You can reset it... but you cannot use any of your previous three passwords."
Excuse me? Why do you remember them? If you know what they are, just let me in! Clearly, we both know the secret code!
(Walks a bit across the stage)
I think all this stress is why I’ve started obsessing over sleep. That’s the final stage of adulthood: spending an insane amount of money on bedding.
I bought a pillow last week. It cost eighty dollars. Eighty dollars! For a bag of foam. But the marketing got me. It said it was "Memory Foam."
I don’t know why I want my pillow to have a memory. I drool when I sleep. I don't want the pillow remembering that. I want a pillow with amnesia. I want a pillow that wakes up every morning going, "Who are you and why are you damp?"
The box said it was "Ergonomically designed for side sleepers." I bought it, took it home, and realized it doesn't matter what shape the pillow is, because I sleep like I fell off a building. I wake up with my arm twisted behind my back, one leg off the bed, and my neck at a ninety-degree angle.
I woke up this morning and it took me three minutes to initialize my own spine. I sounded like a bag of gravel being thrown down a staircase. Crack. Pop. Snap.
But, you know, I got up, I drank my coffee, and I reset my password again. So, I guess I’m doing okay.
Thanks, guys, you’ve been great!
(Waves and walks off).
