In sixth grade, my teacher assigned some friends and I a presentation on deforestation. The only computer in the house was in my parents' room. We gathered around the computer, I typed in www.deforestation.com, and hardcore porn popped up. We were eleven, we had never seen porn. There were penises in vaginas and penises in mouths and penises up asses. Our mouths dropped faster than a pedophile's pants at the park. One of my friends gasped. Another cried. I heard my mom walking down the hallway. I tried to exit out of the site but nineteen porn pop-ups littered the screen and the computer froze. I ran to the bedroom door, slammed it shut and locked it.
My mom was smacking her hand into the door yelling for us to open it, I frantically pressed control-alt-delete to no avail, and my friend was still crying. Another friend started screaming and let my mom into the room. I catapulted my eleven-year-old body across the screen and shrieked, "It's not our fault, it's not our fault." My mom tore my body away from the computer and looked into a frenzy of particularly raunchy sex pop-ups. She wailed like a dying mother.
That was in sixth grade. Last week, a fellow Realtor wandered into my office. My mom's boyfriend bought her an iPad last Christmas. Recently he bought her an iPad case with a built-in keyboard. iPads are fantastic tools for Realtors, because we take them with us when driving around clients. If clients have any questions about other properties, the iPad delivers like a god. My colleague shook his hand at the iPad and asked me to show him the tricks.
"Please just show me a few things. Like how to get on the Internet. Show me the good stuff," he said.
I am the youngest Realtor in our office by fifteen years. As with most Real Estate offices, the agents are old. They don't have hearing aids, but ninety-nine percent are members of AARP with Viagra and wheelchairs looming in the near future. And our office might as well be in Japan, the walls are so thin. When I clicked the Safari button, a porn site popped up. Again, there were vaginas and penises and asses and mouths. There were videos. My colleague covered his eyes and started screaming, "Why is there porn? Why is there porn? Oh my God, my eyes, oh my God, why is there porn?"
I replied by repeatedly shrieking, "It's not my iPad! It's my mom's! It's not mine, it's not mine!"
Within seconds half of the agents in the building were in my office. We were both still yelling. I thought one of the elderly women was going to have a stroke.
My mom was smacking her hand into the door yelling for us to open it, I frantically pressed control-alt-delete to no avail, and my friend was still crying. Another friend started screaming and let my mom into the room. I catapulted my eleven-year-old body across the screen and shrieked, "It's not our fault, it's not our fault." My mom tore my body away from the computer and looked into a frenzy of particularly raunchy sex pop-ups. She wailed like a dying mother.
That was in sixth grade. Last week, a fellow Realtor wandered into my office. My mom's boyfriend bought her an iPad last Christmas. Recently he bought her an iPad case with a built-in keyboard. iPads are fantastic tools for Realtors, because we take them with us when driving around clients. If clients have any questions about other properties, the iPad delivers like a god. My colleague shook his hand at the iPad and asked me to show him the tricks.
"Please just show me a few things. Like how to get on the Internet. Show me the good stuff," he said.
I am the youngest Realtor in our office by fifteen years. As with most Real Estate offices, the agents are old. They don't have hearing aids, but ninety-nine percent are members of AARP with Viagra and wheelchairs looming in the near future. And our office might as well be in Japan, the walls are so thin. When I clicked the Safari button, a porn site popped up. Again, there were vaginas and penises and asses and mouths. There were videos. My colleague covered his eyes and started screaming, "Why is there porn? Why is there porn? Oh my God, my eyes, oh my God, why is there porn?"
I replied by repeatedly shrieking, "It's not my iPad! It's my mom's! It's not mine, it's not mine!"
Within seconds half of the agents in the building were in my office. We were both still yelling. I thought one of the elderly women was going to have a stroke.
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