It’s after midnight and I can’t sleep. I remembered that Netflix’s version of Midnight Diner: Tokyo Stories had a floating caption the last few days stating, “Season 2 coming October 1.”
It is technically October 2 and Season 2 is not on Netflix and that blurb is gone. I couldn’t have known that Season 2 was a lie until I attempted to watch. Netflix, please stop toying with my emotions by taking away my rare moment of insomniac clarity.
Instead, without a solid backup show, I will flick through hundreds of options across a multitude of paid subscription services and fall asleep as soon as whatever show I begrudgingly pick begins.
Of course I imagine the personified Netflix as a man. Probably in a suit and too busy railing lines with $100 bills to notice he forgot to hit “submit” when updating today’s new content.
Does Mr. Netflix care when the proletariat is stuck watching Midnight Diner re-runs after expecting a timely release of the second season? No. He does not worry himself about disgruntled weebs such as myself.
Good night to everyone except the inconsiderate human entity I am imagining Netflix to be. May restful sleep take us all soon. Everyone except the false prophet, Mr. Netflix.