I’ve been enthralled with the Dominos pizza tracker for many years. The first time I ordered online was an experience like no other. I chose thin crust, as opposed to hand tossed, with regular marinara sauce and mozzarella cheese, pepperoni and banana peppers. “Muhammad has prepared your pizza and put it in the oven.” I immediately chose the Jamaican themed tracker. The sound of the ocean and a quasi Jamaican accent serenades me of the progress of my creation.
“Your order is going into the oven.” (said in a Jamaican accent) My mouth begins to water in anticipation for the salty delight. I patiently wait while listening to Reggae muzak and another update chimes. “Muhammad is double checking your order for quality.” I like the sound of that. Dominos has become the Apple computers of fast food pizza chains, constantly updating your product, like iTunes. Another few minutes go by, “Jose is on his way!” Thirty minutes later the pizza arrives and I couldn’t be happier. I tip $5.00 and begin to feast.
Fast forward four years later. The pizza is still bad and it takes longer to get your order. In reality this is what the tracker is telling you.
“Muhammad hastily put your toppings in a haphazard manner and threw it in the oven.” 20 minutes later, another update. “Muhammad is NOT double checking your pizza for quality because he went outside to have a smoke.” The best part is when the pizza is done and is “ready for delivery,” but sits untouched for another 40 minutes. The update chimes in, “your arder is getting cold mon.” From ordering to receiving, an hour and half has past, and I’m tired of Reggae muzak. Next time I’ll try the baseball theme, “your order is striking out, and you should’ve gone to Pizza Hut.”
The first sext was not erotic in the slightest. It was not sent at 2 am. It was not even a booty call.
The first sext was not a witty pick-up line beamed to space on a cellular network. It was not even transmitted over the Internet.
The first sext was not sent from a man to a woman or vice versa. It was definitely not the work of a horny politician with a sex addiction (although that would come much later).
Shockingly, the first sext did not include a picture of anyone’s genitalia. And despite their popularity nowadays, it was not accompanied by a naked bathroom selfie.
The first sext was delivered by hand, however it was not handwritten.
The first sext was incredibly concise and yet evoked a thousand salacious images.
While I don’t know the exact time or place, the first sext was most likely exchanged in a school from one giggling boy to another. And these boys were almost assuredly nerds. (When the first sext appeared, nerds were still mocked and not super cool Internet Zillionaires like nerds today.)
The first sext was a groundbreaking example of creative expression using the latest technology. The message itself took up nearly the entire screen on which it appeared. Most of these screens were solar powered, so the first sext was likely viewed in daylight or at least under the institutional glow of flourescent lighting.
The first sext did not realize it was a sext for many years, and later modestly stepped down, taking a back seat and letting the cocky new generations express themselves with no clue that it–sitting right back there behind them, fat and bald and wearing a Hypercolor t-shirt and loud green, yellow and red Cross Colours jeans–was the true Originator.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the first sext: