Me and Amazon have had something of a relationship issue dating back from when Amazon turned parts of its clothing department into a valid reason to scream "WITCH". This would be when the static expressionless woman in an Nine West A-Line summer dress tosses you a soullessly saucy smile before prancing woodenly in place (sometimes jerkily because why the fuck make this in any way not wrong?) in a way that my ancestors--who left Germany because the Lutheran church was too Catholic-lite for them (and ethnic minority something, but mostly, the religion thing)--would convert to Catholicism to become witchhunters and burn me and my computer at the stake while screaming in Latin, German, and Wendish and I would die without even being able to google the Wendish because it's sort-of deadish. (Guess: 'Satan' probably in there somewhere. Possibly also disappointment that I still don't like sauerkraut.)
(My Great-great grandmother was like the stereotype of German women of mock-fear but a real person and fucking terrifying three digit years and a black and white picture away; two hundred fucking pounds of solid muscle, and her breasts could beat your skull in while she disjointed you like a shriekingly plucked chicken without getting blood on her freshly scrubbed floor. Her expression was stern yet kindly sociopathic, like maybe today she's not considering how one of her great-great granddaughters isn't entirely sure of the point of mopping (and is a witch who makes pictures dance) and so no burning her yet. (Yet.)
Here's the thing: I keep forgetting about it.
(Amazon, not great-great grandmother. It just bothers me how there are no records of hundreds of disjointed human bodies being found in the greater hill country (with heads quite battered), or even dozens of missing person reports, because how did she hide them so well? Just gets to me sometimes, that's all.)
I forget the dancing uncanny valley Amazon thinks will make me buy clothing from them and usually shriek (maybe she strangled them first? She didn't look merciful but anything's possible) while watching them twirl-skip-jerk-finish twirl in place with a sassy flip of a pixelated skirt.
Or worse: I don't forget.
I watch and wait and it's fine--no future creepypasta based on a true story here (has Unresolved Mysteries on reddit looked into this hill country cover-up? Why is no one asking questions about this?)--and I start to scroll and suddenly from the corner of my eye there's movement of platform heels and cue 'shriek' because what the fuck Amazon? You waited until I was just far enough down the page to trust and cue a bad remake of the shoes that make you dance forever while advertising DKNY?
Autoplay may indeed be of the devil (and my great-great grandmother's crimes will never be known at this rate) because there really is no other explanation why it exists. It's bothering me that everyone--and I do mean everyone--is picking up the crazy for autoplay and not just tumblrites who want to convey their pain with repeat-one Imagine Dragons singles; what happened to variety in your personal angst? Get a fucking playlist of it already.
CNN picked up this charming habit, even on articles I picked specifically for text, which isn't easy (picking, or awareness of this family secret no one else seems to know about) since they redesigned their site to be impossible to navigate and added autoplay streaming video on the off-chance you persisted in your desire to use them, and it has the added benefit of having to patiently wait for the video to start so you can stop it. If you forget--I still do--a Midwestern monotone will abruptly fill your headphones while reading (invariably about murder involving refrigerators or c-sections, because why not?) and make you jump suspiciously because you really are kind of two days away from turning in those tests you said were almost done and you're at work where technically, you should be doing them. Or so I've been told.
I feel like there needs to be an overall theme to this entry other than I hate autoplay and my great-great grandmother kind of still scares me, but there's really not. This is the inevitable result of mixing genealogy, shopping, and robitussin DM (half-dose) because you're kind of over this entire 'not sick enough to miss work' thing.
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