The Zapper

JANUARY 15, 2010

The dirt riding school where I broke my shoulder has a spring session on their schedule, and I wondered aloud whether my arm would be healed in time to attend.

Deborah didn’t respond with words, just an evil sneer made of equal parts concern, disappointment, and disgust.

One of Deborah’s bookkeeping clients is a successful product photographer who was injured in a motorcycle accident in the Hamptons several years ago. Apparently, it was a bad wreck that caused a lot of serious injuries and left him with permanent nerve damage. He is in constant pain, has a limited range of arm motion, and impaired function in his right hand. He writes with a big, fat pen.

When Deborah told him that I was considering retaking the class, he said, “Wait right here,” then disappeared to the corner of his studio and returned with a black plastic case. “Here,” he said. “A present.”

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

Even after she opened it, she wasn’t quite sure what it was. Inside was something resembling a flashlight, and a shiny black collar with a small box attached to it.

“It’s a remote training collar for dogs,” he said. “I was going to sell it on ebay, but you can have it instead.”

Protruding from the box are two strategically placed electrodes that, when the big, red button on the remote control is pressed, send a painful shock to whoever is unfortunate enough to be wearing the crazy thing. With the optional antenna attached, you can torture someone from a mile away.

“Put it on your husband and whenever he tries to go near his motorcycle, zap him.”

“Oh my god, thank you,” said Deborah.

The whole thing was a joke, of course, but I have to admit, I was fascinated. A sinister contraption, to be sure, but I was curious to know what it felt like. After my recent session with a neurologist who tortured me with a similar setup for several hours, I figured, how bad can it be? But seeing the villainous look in Deborah’s eyes as she fondled the remote made me think twice.

“Um. Better not.”