There's an App for That

men.

The Morning Commute

At seven-twenty-six in the morning, Cynthia ran into the quaint, brick Chicago suburban train terminal, with a twenty in her hand. She looked around for the ticket window, then stopped dead in her tracks. Where the heck was it?

She darted over to the line of people, dressed in everything from business suits to college cool, going through the turnstile, all busy talking on their smart phones or texting on their tablets.

Ah, excuse me, she said to a man pointing with her thumb towards her house. My car wouldn’t start this morning and –

Do you mind? the man yelped at her, then lectured, I’m divorced. My wife took a job out of state. And with our busy lives, this is the only time I get to have any Facetime with my kids.

The kids glaring at her took her aback for a moment, then she said to the next man walking by, And I’ve never taken a train before, so I’m a little confused about –

Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a PowerPoint presentation, he growled, struggling to contain his rage. He pointed to his iPad and whisper-shouted, My whole career is riding on me getting this contract with this company in Singapore. Then he continued on through the turnstile, put on a professional smile and said, Now, like I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted . . .

Cynthia turned to a woman, who was watching some sort of a documentary on her iPad about a classroom in an African village, where a girl was doing an arithmetic problem on a battered blackboard. Ma’am could you please help me. I’m running late and –

Can’t you see I’m already helping twenty-eight someones, the woman cried out, looking at Cynthia, like she was crazy. She pointed to her iPad, as she backpedaled through the turnstile. Twelve hundred of us, from all over the world, are working to give these poor people a better chance in life, and I’m the only grade school math teacher these kids have.

And just as Cynthia was about to say something to a teenage girl, the girl slumped her shoulders and moaned, Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six months since my last online confession.

Cynthia saw the train arrive and panicked. She looked up at the ceiling and cried out, We’re supposed to be the most technologically advanced civilization on earth. So how come we have to read a 120-page manual or find somebody who can tell us how to do the simplest things today?

Trying to buy a boarding pass? a man said, jogging passed her.

Yeah!

Been there, done that. He waved his phone at some sort of scanner on the turnstile. There’s a Metra app for that in the App Store.

Cynthia frantically found and tapped on the Store’s icon, then cried out to him, out on the platform, But there are 142 of them!

The man shouted back, The one with the icon of a woman at the ticket window.

Cynthia found it, hit the download button, tapped on the icon, punched one, then entered her credit card number from memory. She looked like she had to pee as she eyed the commuters filing through the turnstile and on into the train. C’mon, c’mon! she shouted out in desperation. Finally, a barcode popped up, she waved it in front of the scanner thingy, quickly pirouetted through the turnstile, darted for the train and made it, just as the doors closed.

As the train jolted forward, Cynthia held onto a seat and tried to catch her breath. Then something occurred to her and she started to panic again.

She leaned down into a woman watching a movie on her iPad. Could I ask you a question?

Of course, the woman said, gushing with excitement. She nodded to the movie. This is Die Hard 17! Gay terrorists, who want a Constitutional amendment to make gay marriage legal, have stolen an estrogen bomb from a research site. And Bruce Willis is trying to stop them from turning every man in America into raving drag queens. Just like they’ve done to the Republican President, the Republican Congress . . . and to Bruce Willis himself.

Ah, no, Cynthia said, pointing up and down the train. This is kinda long –

Oh, I just love that outfit Bruce is wearing, the woman by the window said, butting in. Where can I get it?

. . . So am I supposed to be in a particular car, Cynthia continued on.

The woman paused the video, double-tapped on the dress and a webpage popped up.

. . . so I don’t miss my stop.

Looks like Amazon has it for $229.95, plus shipping, the first woman said.

Does that include the jewelry and the handbag?

The women kept gabbing, so Cynthia hurriedly moved on and decided to try another tact with the couple in the next seat. She pointed to their iPads and said rapid fire, That’s really something. Taking college exams online. Wanted to get my MBA, but because of that student loan thing –

Well, you should go back, the woman whispered, cordially. This app has assembled all the best lectures from all the best teachers from all the best universities in the English-speaking world and has turned them into a fully accredited, online university. She nodded to the man next to her. We’re both working on our MBAs and it only costs two hundred bucks per semester.

Well, that’s fantastic, Cynthia whispered back. And I’d love to get more info on that, but first, if I work at Wabash and Randolph –

No talking during the exam! a voice from both their iPads scolded, as First and Last Warning flashed in bright red.

The two students looked horrified and buried their heads back into their exams.

Cynthia hurriedly moved on, and just when she was about to try her luck with the man in the next seat, reading an online newspaper on his iPad, the man by the window pointed to the video game on his iPad and cheered, Whoopee! I just took out al-Qaeda’s number five man with a missile from my drone. He elbowed the man reading the newspaper. That puts me at the number two spot in the tournament. One more kill and I get ten thousand bucks.

The man reading the newspaper turned to him and scowled. That’s not a game, you frigging idiot! The Defense Department farmed out the drone program to some contractor and you game players are saving them billions of dollars.

A shouting match broke out between them, so Cynthia hurriedly moved on to two women in the next seat, busy on their iPhones. Excuse me, ladies. There doesn’t seem to be a conductor on this train, so I was wondering –

Hey, the first one yelped, pointing a threatening finger at her, I belong to a network of married women, whose husbands have all flunked the ‘How to Tell If Your Husband Is Cheating on You’ test in Cosmo. She pointed to her smart phone. And hundreds of us are trailing that scumbag, in the car ahead of us, on our camera phones -- from cars, offices, restaurants and on sidewalks -- and are using lipreading apps, to see what he saying to every woman he meets. And it’s my job to tail him when he gets off the train.

Cynthia turned to the woman by the window, who was doing her make-up using the forward-facing camera. And when the woman gave her a don’t you even dare glare, she darted over to the two men across the aisle. Sorry to bother you, but --

Hey, the first one said, pissed. I got busted for punching my ex-girlfriend’s husband in the face - at her wedding - and the judge sentenced me to twenty hours of community service a week for six months. He held up his iPad and groaned out in frustration, And somehow, I’ve got to straighten out the books for this free clinic.

She looked at the man by the window glared at her and cried, Can’t you see I’m on jury duty.

Cynthia let out a frustrated groan, as she ran off to try her luck in the next car.

And the people in the next car were only too happy to help, too. They just wanted Cynthia to do them an itsy bitsy little favor first.

So, there she was, nervously smiling, holding a bride’s bouquet, standing before a marriage practitioner and next to a woman who was eyeing her, like she had the hots for her. Everyone in the car was holding up camera phones so the couple’s friends and family, from all over the country, could attend the proxy wedding for a lesbian couple, who used to be regulars in the car, but got transferred to Texas, where gay marriage was still an abomination.

And when the marriage practitioner said, You may now kiss the bride, the woman grabbed her. Cynthia panicked, pointed to the teary-eyed happy couple, watching on one of the camera phones and said, Ah, shouldn’t they be the ones -

The groom bent her over and kissed her passionately.

Cheers when up, Champaign corks got popped and confetti and streamers got tossed. And when Cynthia finally came up for air, she tried to keep a big smile up for all the people watching.

Finally, she said, Okay, now for my favor. If I work at Wabash and Randolph, what car am I supposed to be in, so I don’t miss my stop?

Don’t know, one woman shouted, over the racket. Kinda new at this myself. All I know is where I’m supposed to get off.

The groom pointed to the rear of the train. All I know is, that to increase ridership, they got a gym car down there -- the personal trainer is a hottie, by the way -- and beyond that, a medical clinic, a quit-smoking car, a beauty salon, and of course, a McDonald’s. A third nodded to the front of the train. And up there somewhere, they got a car where all the passengers go over the state budget, line-by-line. They’ve saved the taxpayers six hundred million so far. But beyond that, can’t help you.

Cynthia cried out in exasperation, then trudged on, sidestepping through the revelers to the next car. And as she did, the train rounded a turn and she saw the Loop coming up fast.

In a panic, she cried out to everyone in the car, Do you people know why mankind had to invent civilization? Because the universe doesn’t give a damn about us, that’s why! And if we don’t reach out to our fellow man, who is in desperate need for help, our society is no better than the dog-eat-dog world of the jungle. She took a breath, then shouted at the top of her lungs. So can somebody, please, tell me what car I need to be in, so I can get to my job at Wabash and Randolph?

The passengers all shouted, There’s an app for that, then one-by-one responded.

And I’d be glad to show it to you, one said, but I’m at a convention, and it’s time for me to take the podium and give my speech.

I’d love to, too, another said, but I’m volunteering at a suicide hotline and I’m in the middle of trying to talk this guy down from a roof.

Me? I’m auditioning for a show at Second City.

I’ll be glad to, just as soon as this video of a baby, dancing to the Beatles, is over.

And just when Cynthia was about to break down and cry, a man and a woman stepped up. I’ll show you, they both said, uploading the App Store’s app on their phones.

Cynthia heaved a sigh of relief.

Then a man popped in from the car at the rear and called out, Someone’s having a baby. Anyone have a midwifery app?

The woman, who was getting ready to show Cynthia what app she needed, shouted, I’ve got the Yellow Cab’s app, and it’s the best of the bunch. She then ran off.

And just as the man was going to show her what she needed, another man emerged from the door at the front of the car. The engineer of the train just croaked. Our train’s now a runaway! Has anyone in here won that video game, where you have to stop the locomotive before it crashed to the station, killing everyone on board?

And the man who was going to help Cynthia, said, I have, then he took off, too.

Cynthia cried out like a wounded animal.

A man tapped her on the shoulder and said, Senora, des es da one chou want.

Minutes later, Cynthia impatiently bobbed up and down, waiting for something to happen, and finally, finally a graphic appeared. Although it was in Spanish, she got the gist of it. A green dot indicated which car she needed to be in and a flashing red dot indicated her present location. She was just three cars away and the countdown clock showed that she only had two minutes and twelve seconds to get there before the doors closed.

Into the next car, she bolted, as the train screeched and groaned to a stop. She plowed her way through people, getting up, grabbing their stuff. She threw the doors open to the next car and ran even faster, leaving men’s ties flapping in the breeze. In the final car, she leaped over a man bending down to pick something up off the floor, and, and just when the doors to the platform where about to close, she screeched to a halt, pivoted, dove, stopped the doors from closing, and leaped through the air.

On the platform, she leaned over, both hands on her thighs and tried to catch her breath. After a moment, she hoisted herself erect, combed her hair back with both hands and savored the moment. Then she looked right and left at all the people crisscrossing, hustling off here and there.

Excuse me! she called out. Does anyone know where I can catch a bus, so I can get to my job at Wabash and Randolph?

But that’s another story.

The Killer App

Juan burst through the front doors of the new car dealership, with this tie blown up and over his shoulder. He looked around and saw a young woman, who looked like a teenager in a pants suit, pacing with index cards in hand, talking to herself. He ran up to her, nervously checking to see if anyone from the street saw him duck into the dealership, and said half out of breath over his shoulder to her, Need a car. Need it now!

Lila secretly gestured fantastic. Time to show Dad she would be better taking over the business, than her big brother.

She put on a professional smile and said what was on the first card of the sales pitch, her dad had given her, And what price range and trade-in would we be talking about, sir?

Doesn’t matter! Juan said, hiding behind the car, she was standing beside, his eyes glued to the street. Wrote a killer app. Got at least a mil in my Pay Pal account. The trade’s down the street at a hotel, where I was giving a seminar. He scrounged around in his pocket. It’s two years old. He tossed the keys to her. You can have the damn thing.

Lila snatched the keys in mid-air, then patted the roof of the car Juan was hiding behind and said, proudly, Well, sir, this baby here is just the car for the busy man on the go, like yourself. It’s the first car to use the iPhone as it’s brain and comes with thirteen hundred and eighty-seven apps, as standard equipment.

I’ll take it.

Lila shuffled to the next card, so determined to get the sales pitch perfect, she didn’t hear the customer. Not only can the Remote App on your iPhone be used to unlock the car, operate your garage door opener and be a remote start in winter, it can also be used to locate the car at airports and in huge shopping mall parking lots.

Juan nervously peered through the car’s windows at the cars cruising by the dealership. I’m sold.

Lila assumed the customer was looking at the console, so she quickly shuffled to the right card, squatted down to talk through the open side windows and pointed. "And when you insert your phone in the slot in the console - that you’re looking at, sir - you can run hundreds of apps that do everything from tracking your business mileage for tax purposes, monitor the back-up camera and be a multimedia owner’s manual, in case you need to see a