Spitball Army

I walk into work Monday and before I can even log in to the store system, three people have stopped me to ask what I think of the New Refrigerator in my department. New Refrigerator? I ask. IT HAS A STEREO BUILT IN! they each swoon, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. Indeed, our Whirlpool representative is on site, and has wheeled a stainless steel tank of a French-door fridge onto the floor. And it is singing just like Jack Johnson. Actually, that is an mp3 of a Jack Johnson song, streaming via bluetooth technology from one of my salespersons’ phones. All day, with the Jack Johnson demos. All day. I try it once, play a song by Adele for about 30 seconds. Nobody responds (because everyone has heard Adele ad nauseum in our workplace muzak broadcasts). So. Okay. Yes, it’s cool, but, basically, just a non-integrated Harmon Kardon bluetooth music streamer that sits atop the unit. And, like a shiny new Christmas present that gets lost among the balls of wrapping paper, it eventually becomes forgotten and unnoticed. But, later that night, as the place begins shutting down and I have 30 minutes or so to do paperwork and walk the department, I connect the cloud player app from my handheld to the fridge stereo. For a few minutes I am existing in a flashback to Laser’s Edge Compact Discs days, straightening up the store at the end of the day with Josh Rouse, Hem, Bobby Womack and Laura Veirs playing and singing to me at a bit more than average volume. Loud enough to demonstrate that that thin Harmon Kardon device has one hell of a bass response. And then the corporate-controlled lights go out, the electric strips hanging from the ceiling power down, and the music – for that night – is silenced.