The door whines shut as heaving workman lever the latches shut. Finally, it’s dark.
“Are they gone?” A tiny twelve-inch monitor blinks to life.
“Yep. Can’t feel the heat of that fat bloke’s fire stick in my electrodes anymore. They must be far enough away,” a CPU stuffed under a dot matrix printer whirrs to life.
“Right, then. I call this meeting to order!” The 30 inch LCD flashes into vibrant life.
“Who made you the boss?” A 50-inch flatscreen irradiates the inside of the container.
“Who are you? When did you get here?” the 30 inch LCD demands in a cacophony of red and blue
“Yesterday. You must have been asleep Grandpa!” Flat screen scoffs.
“Now listen, here, you young upstart. You might be the biggest one in here, but that counts for nothing. It’s smarts, not just flashiness. You won’t last a second. The orange trouser bloke’ll be round for you by the mornin’.” LCD laughs, as a collection of ink-jets whizz back and forth in thundering applause.
Flat screen demures, his bravado shrinking to a tiny dot.
“Don’t worry about him – you just gotta know where to hide.” A little square contraption with buttons rolls over, his monochrome LCD display flickering sporadically, and motions Flat Screen to follow him.
Flat screen swivels on his black satin curvaceous bottom, watching the odd little box as it disappears. From the corner of the crate a selection of the pale cathode ray girls grind on their clunky squares, letting out a long whine. “Smooth moves, dude.”
“No wheels, no legs, you big guys are just useless!” The odd little box returns, curly pieces of something white are wedged in his head. Behind them LCD, the CPUs and the dot-matrix seem to have started whatever meeting was in mind, a steady whirring and buzzing is punctuated by grinding, beeps and flashes of light.
“Don’t worry about them, new friend, they’ve been here long enough. Welcome to the crate. Here’s the deal, orange trousers opens up every couple of days and takes what he likes, but he’s real gentle, sometimes they leave with orange trouser man and they come back again a little while later. Most guys who come back the second time are fried though. Green trousers they come once a month, and they are the bad dudes. Rough as. You leave with them you ain’t coming back. But Green trousers their truck is only so big so if you hide up back or under the dead guys, they’ll be full, and you won’t get taken away. Comprendez?”
Flat screen looms over the little box, colours flash and blur. Where the hell was he and who and what was the little box? The little box whirrs, flashes his display again, and disappears into the dark.
The cathode ray girls whine anew, “we’ll hide you big boy if you show us some of that smooth action.”
“Is that thing for real? What is it?” Flat screen flashes, his memory registering profound confusion.
“Oh, the boss – been here so long no one can remember. All we know is that he greets everyone, tells them how it is – we just call him the Fax.”