The Joneses - Presets 1-21

Happy families are all alike.  Or are they?

Take Mr and Mrs Jones, married for 32 years.  Mr. Steven Jones works a desk job for a middle-sized company that does nothing terribly exciting.  The job isn’t particularly unpleasant or particularly satisfying, but it has paid for their modest little home and sent their daughter and son to college.  Mrs. Linda Jones keeps the aforementioned home neat and tidy, and works a part-time job as a sales clerk to ‘keep busy’ - and to have a good amount of time each day to chat with her friends at the store.

They have a comfortable routine - go to work, come home, eat dinner in companionable silence.  A few random discussions about each other’s day, treading familiar paths.  Then television, a quiet hour or two reading, and bed.  The weekend breaks up the routine, and Mrs. Jones especially looks forward to it because Sunday night both their children come over for dinner.  Stacy brings her girlfriend Jenny most weeks.  Jeremy is just happy for a home-cooked meal, as he finally moved out two months ago and is still learning how to fend for himself.

The coming weekend is their 33rd anniversary, although they privately think of it as their 40th year together.  Stacy’s anniversary gift is about to make things change.

That Sunday’s dinner follows the established routine.  Stacy and Jenny arrive first, and are greeted at the door by both of Stacy’s parents.  Stacy has her mother’s auburn hair (though Mrs. Jones’ is streaked with grey).  Jenny’s hair is bright pink tonight, and she seems to have purple contacts on.  This isn’t the first time she’s sported the look, so Mrs. Jones doesn’t comment on it.  Besides, it suits her personality.

“Happy Anniversary, Mom!”  Stacy calls out with a grin, and hugs her mother tightly.  Clutched in her right hand is a small package in brightly wrapped paper.

“Thanks, dear,” Mrs. Jones replies, before quickly scurrying back to the kitchen to tend the food.

Mr. Jones greets his daughter and Jenny politely, though with the usual reserved distance he has always kept around this very long term girlfriend of Stacy’s.  While he notices the way they’re holding hands tonight, he says nothing about it.

As usual, Jeremy is late, and breezes in just in time to sit down for dinner.  He apologizes for running so late, which is a touch unusual, and blames it on his difficulties finding wrapping paper for the somewhat larger object he placed on the living room table.

The discussions over dinner are largely confined to the events of the past week.  While Stacy is good about calling her mother regularly, Jeremy isn’t, and Mrs. Jones always wants to know how his week has been, and if he’s seeing anyone.  She hasn’t asked Stacy that in a long time.

After dinner, everyone moves to the more comfortable seats of the living room, and there’s another short chorus of ‘Happy Anniversaries’.  

“Go on, Mom and Dad, open it!” says Jeremy, pointing at the larger package.  He’s almost bouncing in his seat from excitement.

So Mr. Jones dutifully conveys the box to his wife.  There’s no card, unlike Stacy’s gift, so Mrs. Jones just pulls the wrapping off.

“What’s a PVR?” she asks, after about a minute of looking at the box.

“A personal video recorder.  This way you can record TV shows you like to watch, and watch them later.”

“But we have a VCR for that.”

Jeremy points at the device blinking 12:00 under the television.  “And you haven’t used it in years.  This is better, you don’t have to fumble around with tapes - it has a menu that lists all the shows you’ve recorded.”

“I don’t know, it sounds awfully complicated.”

“Told you,” mutters Stacy to Jeremy.  He sticks his tongue out at her, and gets a look from his mother for his efforts.

“You also can pause and rewind live TV, so if you want to take a break during one of your shows, you can.”

“Oh!  Well, that could be handy.”

“Can it rewind sports, too?” asks Mr. Jones.  “Sometimes I really want an instant replay, and there isn’t one.”

“Yes, Dad, of course it can.  Just like any other show.”

“Well, then, let’s set it up.”

As Jeremy and his father start pulling wires out from behind the television, Stacy turns to her mother, and passes over the other gift.  “This is from Jenny and me, we got it after we heard Jeremy’s plan.”

Mrs. Jones oohed over the pretty card, then carefully unwrapped the gift.  Inside was a box marked ‘UNIVERSAL REMOTE’ in big, friendly letters.  Underneath, in smaller print, it said, ‘Controls Everything, no setup required.’

“We tested it out, and ended up getting one for us, too.  I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.”

“Yeah,” comments Jenny.  “Charlie always has the best stuff.”

“Just point it at whatever you want to control,” Stacy continues, “And it’ll bring up a really intuitive display.”

Before long, Jeremy has the PVR all hooked up to his parents’ TV.  Stacy picks up the remote, and pointed it at the TV.  Across the top of the remote’s screen it now reads ‘TV - RCA 28”’.  Below that are two buttons.  “Off” which is greyed out, and “Watch PVR”.

“You try it, Mom.”

“Well.  That is pretty simple.”  She presses “Watch PVR”, and the TV blinks on, as does the PVR.

“Point it at the PVR - the box under the TV.”

Now the remote reads ‘PVR’ across the top, and has a few more buttons.  There’s a boxed section of ‘Presets’, with Mr. and Mrs. Jones’ favourite channels set up.  Below that is ‘Listings’ and ‘Record a Show’.  ‘Watch Recorded Shows’ is greyed out.

Mrs. Jones presses one of her favourite channels, and grins delightedly as the PVR immediately jumps to her show.  Three buttons appear at the bottom edge of the screen, familiar icons for rewind, play/pause and fast forward, the latter of which is greyed out.

“See?  It’s really easy.  Just press pause while pointing at the PVR, and your show will stop.”

Mrs. Jones does so, and then his play again after a few seconds.  “Well.  This is different.  So if I want to ask your father something in the middle of a show, I can just stop it?”

Stacy nods.  “Or if you like, you can press the ‘Record’ button, and it will save your show for later.  You can do that from the listings, too.”

“Well.  Thank you, this is... quite the gift.”

Later, Jeremy pulls his sister aside.  “How the heck does that thing work?”

Stacy grins.  “Magic, of course.”


For the next month, Mr. and Mrs. Jones’ routine becomes unsettled.  Being able to watch their shows whenever they like is novel, though their basic routine changes little.  There’s just... time to dally after dinner, chatting longer about a particularly ornery or amusing customer at the store, or the latest boneheaded memo from management.  Or about how quiet the house is, of late.

“Hon, you’re sitting on the remote.”

“Drat, so I am.”  Mrs. Jones looks up at her husband, then frowns.  “You look... different.  Did you dye your hair?”

“What?  No.  I’m growing used to the ‘distinguished’ look, really.”

Mrs Jones turns the remote to the TV and hits pause, then back to her husband.  And frowns, looking down at it.  “That’s... odd.”

“What is, dear?”

“Well, you know how it says ‘TV’ on the top when we’re pointing at the TV, and ‘DVD’ when we point it at the DVD player?  Now it says ‘Jonathan Jones’.  And Age 42.  There’s a ‘Restore’ button I haven’t seen before, too.”

“Well, press it, then.  I’m not 42.”

So she does, and nods.  “There.  Your hair looks right again.”

“Ah, good.”

And they watch the rest of their show.


Two days later, the same thing happens again.  This time it’s Mr Jones who inadvertently points the remote at his wife while pressing ‘channel +’.  He blinks, looking at her.  She’s a bit different, but it’s hard to put his finger on exactly how.  His finger is still reflexively channel-surfing, and the changes continue.  Her hair is becoming less grey, and the wrinkles are smoothing out.  She’s definitely younger.

“What are you doing?”  Mrs. Jones, in a voice soft with wonder.

“I...”  He looks down at the remote.  ‘Linda Jones’ is displayed across the top.  And ‘Preset 7’ ticks over to ‘Preset 8’.  Then 9.

“Hon?”

“Yeah.”

“You can let go now.”

“Oh, right.”  Mr. Jones takes his finger off the remote.  ‘Preset 16’ is displayed.  Under that: ‘Age: 16’.  He looks up, and sees a vision from the past.  “Wow... you look exactly like you did when we first met.”

Linda winces, and opens her mouth to feel her teeth.  “Bleah, I *hated* these braces.”

“Maybe I should go back down a preset, so you’re out of braces.  Or... hm, it says there are 235 presets.  Should we try some of the others?”

“I think I should call our daughter before we do anything else at all with that remote.”

Mr. Jones sets the remote down very carefully, but keeps it pointed at his young wife.

“Hi Mom,” crackles the voice from the other end of the line.  “What’s up?”

“Something interesting happened with that remote of yours.”

“Your voice sounds a bit odd, are you OK?” asks Stacy.

“Yes, it’s just the braces.  I last had those when I was sixteen.”

“Oh.  I was hoping you wouldn’t find out it can do that, too.  Just hit ‘Restore’, and go back to watching TV.”

Linda pouts, “What if I don’t want to go back to watching TV?  I’m curious about those 235 presets.”

There is dead silence on the line for several seconds.  “H... how many presets?”

“Dear, how many presets did you say there were?” Linda asks Mr. Jones.

“Two hundred thirty five, it says so in the presets box.”

“Definitely two hundred thirty five, dear.”

“I’m going to...”  The phone gets muffled, but Linda can hear her daughter yelling at Jenny, something about how she was supposed to erase the extras after copying.

“Look, uh...  Wow.  Seriously, just hit Restore.”

Linda whined, “But I don’t wanna.  I like feeling young again.”

“Oh, it does more than... crap, fine. Just stick to the ones under 100, OK?  I put in some of your favourite movie stars starting around 50.”

“What have you been up to, Stacy?”

“Things I really really didn’t want you to see.”

“Now you’ve got me curious.”

“Augh!  Mom!”  But it was too late, Linda had put the phone down.

“So what did our daughter have to say?” asked Mr. Jones.

“I think we can learn a lot about her and Jenny if we try more presets.  Keep going.”

Mr. Jones nods.  “I do hope you don’t end up in diapers, though.  Two kids was plenty on that account.”  He presses channel-up once more, then blushes.

Linda is naked, lying on the couch in a state that Mr. Jones remembers very well.  She’s flushed from some recent exertion, and her hair is thoroughly mussed up, as is her makeup.

“That’s... that’s...” stammers Mr. Jones.  “How did they know?”   He peers down at the remote and blinks.  “This one has a name.  ‘First Time’.  So I was really your first?”

Linda’s breathing slows down, and her tongue probes at her brace-less teeth.  “Yes.  You were.  First and only.  Maybe we should turn the remote on you, and relive the night of my seventeenth birthday.”

Mr. Jones shakes his head.  “I was a pimply, gangly teenager.  I don’t really want to go back to that.  You’re so beautiful, I still don’t know what you saw in a guy like me.”

“You weren’t that bad.  Plus you were very good about trading kisses for the answers to our homework.  You got really good at kissing, and one thing led to another...”

Mr. Jones looks off into the distance, eyes soft as he’s lost in the memory.  “It seemed well worth the price.”

He presses the channel-up button without even noticing this time.  Linda does, though.  “Well.  I don’t remember this outfit.”

Mr. Jones’s brow creases.  “Nor do I.  You look hot in that, if you’d worn that to school I’d never have been able to keep you as my girlfriend.”

Preset 19 leaves Linda a little older, and bustier than either of them recall.  Her clothes are skimpier than before, just a t-shirt and cutoff jeans.  Linda goes in search of a mirror, and ends up in the bedroom to use the full-length mirror there.

“Wow.  I never was this hot.  Hit me again!”

Mr. Jones is only too happy to comply.  The outfit gets even skimpier, and some fishnet stockings and loud makeup are added to the mix.

The next preset leaves even less to the imagination.  Linda’s breasts are larger again, and her bra barely contains them.  Her skirt is little more than a leather belt, and she’s wearing four inch heels.

“Good grief.  You look like a streetwalker in that get up.”

Linda grins.  “Come on, big boy.  Let me show you a good time.”

Mr. Jones carefully sets the remote aside, and it sees no more use that night.