The Emperor's New Electric Company

                                    

                                          
Even after getting my house bent back into shape, it occurred to me that I probably still had enough truffle money left over to settle up with the electric company and get my electricity turned back on. So I put a few portraits of Ben Franklin in one of those red envelopes the power company kept sending me. But as I went up the hill to pay the ransom, I couldn't help gazing down at the ugly power plant that belched its smoke all over the valley, and wondering why David Copperfield had never thought to make the power plant disappear.	
                          
It struck me as socially irresponsible for David Copperfield to waste his talent making beautiful statues and landmarks disappear, such as the Statue of Liberty and the Great Wall of China. That's not good magic. There were so many eyesores he could take care of instead. Signs were always telling us to Pitch In, Do Your Part, and Pick Up Unsightly Debris. If I were president I would create a special position for David Copperfield. I would designate particularly ugly buildings, such as power plants and factories, and appoint David Copperfield to make them vanish. I don't think it would be too disruptive. Magic is an illusion, of course—I know that—so I'm pretty sure the buildings would still be there—they'd just be invisible. Maybe the workers could receive manuals telling them how to adjust to the change. They'd have to count steps in order to find their way around. By all appearances they would be out in a beautiful green valley, and they'd be counting five steps forward, turn left, twelve steps forward, turn again, a-ha!—this is where my cubicle must be! Finding their desk would suddenly be an exciting game, like following a treasure map. And if they'd done it wrong, when they tried to sit down, their invisible chair would not be there to catch them. They'd fall down on the grass and everyone would have a good laugh. They'd sit down on nothing and type on nothing and drink a cup of hot nothing and listen for the five o'clock whistle telling them to go home. It would be fun to watch them, miming all of their duties like children playing "work." I'd probably sit at the top of the hill all day watching their wonderful free black box theater.
                          
In fact, if they got really good at it, they could even go to remote valleys where there were no power plants at all, and perform their miming duties. People would stare at them and say, "Are you crazy? Have you had too much sun? What do you think you're doing?"
                          
"Working," the mimes would inform them. "This is the new invisible power plant. We supply power to seven counties."
                          
"Oh," the audience would say.
                          
Word would get around that there was a new power plant in town, and as new homes were built, the invisible power plant could supply them. At first people would be frustrated that their lights and televisions and computers and microwave ovens did not appear to be working. They'd go to the invisible power plant and complain. The power plant workers would explain:
                          
"This power only works on invisible appliances. Here. Here's an invisible TV set. Take it home and plug it in, and you'll see how it works. That'll be fifty bucks."
                          
"Hmm . . . " the customer would say. "Here's an invisible fifty." 
                          
Imagination could become our new currency!
                          
The people would take the TV home and plug it in. At first it would be hard to see anything. They'd sit and sit on the couch, looking at the space on the TV stand where the invisible TV had been placed. They would have to think all the way back to childhood to remember how to operate magical objects. But, just like riding a bicycle-Pegasus, the skill would come back to them.
                          
I sat at the top of the hill, looking right through the power plant to the unspoiled mountains beyond. I wondered if the old radicals had ever thought to call David Copperfield.
                          
I decided to permanently switch my electricity service to this new provider, the invisible power plant. So it seemed only fair that I should write to my old power company and let them know that I'd decided to become a customer of the Emperor's New Electric Company, and would not be requiring their services in the foreseeable future.