Ad-bug

“Honey, there’s a spider in the bathroom!” Frankie shouts, “Can you come sort it?”

“Can’t you sort it?” I shout back, “I’m in the middle of something here.”

Level 12 of ‘Creeping dread’, which is the brand new one from Matsuyoki San.

“No I can’t. You know I hate spiders!”

I ignore him.

“Pleeeeaasseee…?” he pleads, and I know I’ll have to go sort the spider if I ever want any peace, let alone a chance to make it to level 13.

I think, ‘pause’, and walk downstairs to the bathroom. ‘Frankie is going to owe me for this,’I mutter under my breath as I skip the last few steps of the stairs.

Frankie sits on the top of the toilet with his knees up to his head and his feet on the rim. ‘Pathetic,’ I think, how could I ever have fallen for him?’

“Oh my big brave man,” I say, “Now tell me, where is this horrific beastie that has terrorised you so?”

“Screw off, she’s over there!” He says vaguely waving his finger at the basin.

“Oh, and what makes you think it’s a she?” I ask.

“She wants to hurt me, ergo she’s female.” Frankie says before sticking his tongue out at me.

“The spider does not want to hurt you, it probably just wants to sell you something.”

“Okay fine, whatever, can you just deal with it please?”

“You know, for this Frankie my dear, you’re going to owe me a Lullaby after twilight”

“Yes, yes, just get rid of the little bastard, please.”

Frankie continues to point to the basin; I kneel down and slowly move in to take a closer look.

I’m being more cautious than usual, not only am I feeling extra tired after another 13 hour day in the Accounts Department at Endthemall Entertainment (makers of KillClone™) but according to my PM astrology report, my sales resistance is currently at 23% which is the lowest it’s been since March.

“What did the spider look like?” I ask Frankie who I assume is still cowering on the toilet seat behind me.

He fires straight back, “Like a spider, dummy.”

“No, Frankie, what colour was it?”

“Don’t know, didn’t really get a good look at it.”

I turn around, leaning my elbow as I do, “Was it light or dark?”

Frankie has both hands covering his eyes, he looks like the first of those three monkeys, “I think it was light.” He says peaking at me between his fingers.

I get back to the job in hand. I focus, I really must be careful, a sudden move and it could be on me, and before I know it, it has got my credit details and signed me up for 5 years worth of extended warranty on something that would be cheaper to replace if it broke.

Although, if it is a light one it is probably just trying to sell a financial service of some kind. They’re not that hard to knock back, unlike the dark red ones which are a bitch to resist and will attempt to convert you with ever fibre of their genetically modified being, or die trying.

I move the waste bin to one side and slowly peer behind the neck of the basin.

There it is, a bright yellow Ad-bug. It sees me and immediately goes into its pitch.

“Is it time your car insurance worked for you?” It asks.

“No,” I say as confidently as possible, “My car insurance is just perfect, thank you.”

It is not so easily deterred, “Well we’ve been checking your records, and we could offer you a policy that will reduce your monthly premium by up to 25%. Does that sound of interest to you?”

“What’s it saying?” asks Frankie.

“It’s trying to flog me car insurance,” I say, “But I’m not buying.”

The Ad-bug visibly shrugs, “Give a guy a chance?”

“No,” I say defiantly, “Get out.”

“I’m just trying to do a job here.”

“We don’t need car insurance, so you might as well buzz off.”

“Kill it!” shouts Frankie.

“I’d advise against that,” says the Ad-bug, “As property of C. Moore Incorporated™ I am protected by the 2008 international law of Omni- presentation. Any damage to me or any similar advertising media will result in legal action.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want you to go.”

The Ad-bug scratches it spidery head with its front right legs, “I’m almost done here, if I could just have another 5 minutes and I’ll be out of your hair, so to speak.”

“What are you doing apart from trying to sell me stuff?” I ask.

“Well,” it says, “I was setting up data-webs, that was until your partner over there started shouting at me.”

“And what do data-webs do?” I foolishly ask.

“Well,” the Ad-bug says with renewed vigour, “You have quite the infestation here. Fortunately, our data-webs guarantee a reduction in household omni-presentations by 85%. I can assure you that you won’t find a better domestic service currently available, and all at a lower than ever introductory rate”

"Introductory rate?" I say without thinking.

It’s the merest of buying signals but it’s all the Ad-bug needs and before I know it, it has my credit details and a sale.