This is the story of a TV. Not a TV with special powers, or a TV from outer space. No, just a regular, flat screen, medium-range, perfectly ordinary TV.
This is also a story of the power of bloody-mindedness, a universal force that is not to be underestimated. In fact, some say that if only we could prove that planets have minds, it would be revealed as the one force that keeps the universe running.
Once upon a time, a company named Sony threw a billion coloured balls down a hill in San Francisco. They happened to have a video camera handy, and the resulting clip became an advert for their new range of televisions. They said that the colour of these new TVs was of great quality, and that that was why the balls bounced. Or something to that effect. It didn’t really matter, because the most important thing about the advert was that it made people feel happy.
A year or so later, Sony decided to riddle an abandoned housing estate in Scotland with paint bombs and set them off. Yet again, the resulting advert said a lot about colour, but what it really conveyed was the same tremendous bursting feeling of elation as the bouncing balls. Then came the bunnies.
There is one thing you must know about me: if you want to make me go all gooey and daft and lose all sense of dignity and restraint, wave something bunny-related at me. Seriously, it works every time. And Sony must have known this because, as if their previous adverts weren’t enough to convince me, they went and did one with giant animated plasticene bunnies. Gaaah!
It was around that time that my dear Hubby and I decided to move to the Emerald Isle, and therefore we parted company with a good few of our bulkier posessions, in order to make our international move easier. Our gigantic old cube of a TV was among the first to go, and so, once we were settled in Ireland, a new TV was one of the first things on our shopping list. As we were still in our temporary digs, waiting for our house to be ready to move in to, I had to walk past the Sony store on St Stephen’s Green every day on the way to work and back. They had big cardboard cutouts of bunnies in the window, taunting me. So after a while, Husband gave in to my begging, and just a few days after moving to Laytown, I went into the store and asked if I could put a deposit down on a TV. They took my credit card, I punched in my pin, and skipped away with my receipt in my pocket and a cardboard cutout bunny under my arm (I have awesome negotiating skills).
We had no car at the time, and the cost of getting the TV delivered out to our remote commuter town was more than the cost of hiring a car for a day, so we figured we would hire a car in a week or so and go pick up the TV. Besides, the house had no antenna and the cable hadn’t yet been installed, so there was no rush. I decided to go to the store one evening after work to ask them if they had it in stock and if they could keep one handy for when we wanted to pick it up. So I walked in, showed the salesman my receipt and he went to check.
He came back looking a little flustered, and said that they did indeed have the TV I wanted in stock, but that somehow my card had been charged for the full price, not just the deposit. So I actually owned a TV, and it was sitting there in their store room. I was rather furious, understandably, and decided that the TV would not remain in their back room a minute longer. I called Husband, who was fairly annoyed too, and he came to meet me. We took a look at the box, lifted it between us, and said “sure, 25kg is easily carried by 2 people, we shall take it now, thank you very much!”
This is where the bloody-mindedness kicks in. Once we had left the shop and done a few dozen meters, the 25kg of the TV were suddenly much heavier than we had thought, and the station seemed to be edging further and further away with every step. We were stopping every 20m or so, and the short 1km stroll to Pearse station became an endless trek. Needless to say, dragging a massive TV box through the turnpikes and on to the next train heading our way got us a few strange looks, and we had to stand next to it all the way to our stop to prevent it from toppling over.
Of course, for some strange reason, we hadn’t picked one of the houses next to the station, ours is about 1.5km away, and it’s pretty much uphill all the way. It took us about an hour of lifting, walking, stopping, much rubbing of sore hands and stretching of aching backs. By the time we reached our front door, I was pretty much crying from exhaustion and annoyance, and even ever-calm Husband was beginning to lose it. But we had our TV. In fact, at the time, we only had about 3 pieces of furniture in our big empty house, so our pride and joy had to sit on the floor with nothing much to do for quite a while longer.
And that, children, is why you should always be wary of bunnies.