To Whom It May Concern,
As you read this, I’ll have been frozen in my cryogenic state for many decades, perhaps even centuries. If you check your records, you’ll find that the fee of $399.99 I paid for your company’s services also grants me complete authority to choose the year I’m awakened. I’m guessing 400 bucks (do you still say “bucks?”) will seem like small change to you people of the future, yet in my day it was quite an exorbitant sum and could easily buy you one of our finest cars of the pre-hover variety.
The opportunity to place myself into cryogenic suspension was something I was greatly in favor of, as were many of my family members, coworkers and various other acquaintances. I have no underlying disease or medical condition for which I’m awaiting a cure, but I hope that by the time I’m thawed you’ll have developed more effective methods for dealing with shin splints, dandruff, uncontrollable staring, tennis elbow, and the persistent urge to step on another person’s toe and pretend it was an accident.
You’ll notice on my application form that the “date of revival” line has been left blank. This is because I had no destination year in mind and simply found myself — like everyone at some point in their life — longing to be suspended in a nebulous, death-like state for an indeterminate length. I was careful to make clear to your predecessors that this undefined period should not conclude until such a time that civilization has done away with something my people used to refer to as “tax audits.” If you haven’t yet progressed past that dark time in societal evolution, please leave me to be revived by a more enlightened generation.
I would also prefer to remain in my inanimate state if robots have taken control of the Earth. You may have thought about waking me so that I can join your plucky band of human freedom fighters and help you overthrow your mechanical masters, but you should know that I’ve never considered myself plucky, or a fighter, and that I’m in fact quite chickenshit (do you still say “chickenshit?”). If it happens to be a robot that’s reading this, please know that the humans you consider to be your enemy are so far removed from me personally that I have almost nothing in common with them anymore and would feel no reservations at all about going undercover and relaying to you vital information about their military strategies and such.
In general, don’t wake me in the middle of any dystopia, World War, stock market crash, or fashion trend featuring low hem lines. However, I wouldn’t mind being thawed out if one or more of the following circumstances have come to pass:
World peace. I’d absolutely be open to living in a world of peace and harmony, as long as I’m not obligated to hold hands with strangers or participate in sing-alongs. Also, I hate any kind of small talk or chit chat.
If all males have died off and you’ve become a strictly female society desperate for the company of a man, feel free to begin the thawing process immediately. (Just be certain that the virus that killed off all the men has been eradicated. Or at least be mostly certain.)
Is the name Ralph currently in vogue? I understand these kinds of things can go in cycles, but it was incredibly popular in my day, and I wouldn’t want to live in a time when it wasn’t.
If some form of sonic shower has been invented, I’d love to give it a try. Having to get completely wet, then soap yourself, then rinse, then dry off was always an immense hassle in the old days. Everyone complained about it. Not just me.
Now that I think about it again, revive me even if there’s still much debate and controversy over the continued existence of the virus that killed off all the men.
Finally, if none of these developments have taken place, yet I’m nonetheless being thawed out due to a failure to comply with my wishes, or a loss of power, or if you’ve been presented with a court order from an IRS agent, please know I’ll soon be suing the pants off of you. (Do you still wear “pants?”)