'The Titanic iceberg' by Arturo Perez-Reverte

Yesterday I walked into a bar and I could not take a vermouth because the cash register was not working. It was a gadget with touch screen and boxes determined for each drink, and was damaged. I told the waiter to tell me how much he should, period. As a lifetime. But replied that impossible. I had to mark it before. Their bosses would not let him do anything, and until the machine runs, could not serve anything. So I went to the bar across the street, run by a friendly China: a place as God commands, flies, masons and drunk template. The owner spoke Spanish with an accent between Chinese and Lavapiés. I took my vermouth, I paid and left a tip. When I went out I remember the Titanic was unsinkable, and the thousand-odd idiot who drowned at him in astonishment, as if to say: this can not happen to me. Heaven. It was not planned.

As I walked away, I thought more. On how we like to push a button and be set for life. In the dangerous shortcuts where we slid suicide no return, a tightrope. On how to make the world increasingly vulnerable, subject to spark more foolish, the inevitable failure, the iceberg as by Destiny in the course of the fragile ship that sailed at full speed, blind at night. In the millions of bank accounts and credit cards, for example, that hackers gutted a few days ago to get into electronic game platforms. Or the friend telling me recently that, during a trip to New York, lost his mobile phone and with him his entire agenda, and when I asked why not have a listed phone book, as I said, "Hala, old "as if I were the grandfather Chive.

Remember when I went to have a letter from the post and the light was gone, and the window told me they were going to mow greens, because the franking machine was electric. And when I asked for a stamp as always, those with the mask of king, crack up laughing and said that had not already. Who tried their luck at a tobacconist. I also remembered when it did not work in a restaurant gossip cards and the waiter said he expected to return the line, and I replied that I did a manual copy of the card or I would wait on the street, and then I did copy. Although it was my fault, for they are like everyone else, took the plastic bag of keys, chips and stuff, and I RIFO accepting the rules of this game of Russian roulette in which, in the name of comfort and minimum effort plunged us all headaches. Among other things, I will say as a disclaimer, "for those who do not agree to let him out. Long ago, for example, it is impossible to get a normal ticket office Iberia in Madrid, and any day leave of issuing agencies. So the Internet may only be moved, and he who knows not handled there, or do not want, or is a crock opposed to keys and computer screens, which annoys. To swallow or not to travel.

And so, crooks and saving staff salaries, and other idiots we are going to hell. Resolve any issues cost us hours of phone against canned voices, scoring just for this or that for the other. Everything Christ has been on the phone answering machine, instead of the old busy signal leaves a voicemail, and call it five times now who used to call one. Cars that were previously repaired with a wrench are locked and not turn the wheel to lower electronic failure. Or we see no phone, no laptop, no electronic tablet or not it is, because escachifolla charger and parts store does not open until tomorrow. Or there is no store. I myself, idiot that I know best, I depend every day that have electricity to operate the keyboard and screen I make my living. Me nothing had been careful to preserve two old Olivetti, by the way, if you do not sell tapes anywhere typewriter that feed them.

There is one consolation: that is what we wanted. Nobody forced us. But even the most reluctant to have accepted the rules of this nonsense. This spiral fool. We were never as vulnerable as today. We have forgotten, because we should, that every invention has its specific accident comfortable each and every iceberg Titanic your beach paradise the killer wave. So we're getting, but good. At all. They are already giving. And let me tell you something: sometimes, even when I span, I'm glad. Or almost. There are centuries I sympathize with Professor Moriarty

Original Source http://www.perezreverte.com/