“Remember the good times? When phones were dumb, and people were smart?”
— Spotted on a tee shirt. Worn by someone using a smart phone.
Old movies and television shows are the best. People enjoying life with each other.
Without a cell phone.
Talking, when necessary, on phones tethered to the wall by a cord.
In that not so longago time when no one was expected to be instantly and always available. Before being anatomically attached to a cellphone was considered a vital sign in
the ER. “Is he going to make it, Doc?” “It doesn’t look good. His heartbeat is strong, but he’s losing cell phone signal.”
Who can argue that smart phones have enhanced aspects of our lives. But who can deny that, like most technology hailed with the hooray of reducing workload and making life easier, has heaped harmful effects on us as well.
With all this weighing heavy on my mind, I launched an experiment last week.
I turned off my phone, for 24 hours.
It was pure heaven.
Quiet and peaceful.
After a couple of hours, I did start to think of my kids trying to contact me. My daughter started practicing cell phone use at selected hours only, long ago. She would understand. And my son? He calls more than my daughter, but he talks more than I do if he initiates the call.
So, I usually wait for him to call.
Maybe someone involving business would need me.
Maybe not. This was a Saturday.
What if my friends called. They’ll leave a message, I decided.
Satisfied that anyone wanting to talk to me could wait, I relaxed and enjoyed the bliss of no one “reaching out to touch me.” To coin a twist on an old AT&T jingle.
Then when I turned it back on … “Have I offended you?” The tone of the first text message was hurt.
The next one inquired, “Have you seen that message I sent? It’s been half an hour since I sent it, and I haven’t heard from you.” The tone was frustration.
“Where are you,” another yelled?
I think the idea to cut the cell phone “cable” first occurred to me a couple of weeks ago in a group meeting. Everyone appeared to be reviewing reports and participating in discussion. At least doing a better than reasonable job of pretending to be interested.
Except this one guy.
Head bowed. “How inspiring,” I thought.
“While the rest of us are laboring with the load, he is praying for divine guidance in plotting a financial course.”
Then I saw it.
Thumbs flying on his cell phone under the table. “Must be important business,” I thought. Important enough that he spent the entire meeting head down looking at his phone.
Or maybe it was the day I heard someone proclaim loudly, “What’s the matter with him. Everyone today has a cell phone permanently attached at their hip.” That statement of frustration was triggered when the aggravated individual had not received a prompt response in less than five minutes.
Actually, his wording varied slightly regarding the exact part of human anatomy to which he felt phones were forever affixed to most people, but you get my drift.
However, when you notice how many people have cell phone protrusions in their pockets and which pocket predominately sports said protrusion.
I don’t know. Maybe his impatient analogy was more than a metaphor.
Call me crazy, but I bought an old phone at an antique store. Just like the one we had at home when I was a kid. “Leon, the phone’s for you.”
My sister sounded perturbed. Waving the receiver in the air she told me, “Don’t stay on there long. I’m expecting a call.”
Our last home phone when everyone was still at home was in the kitchen. A black one. It was the only phone in the house. Convenience or coincidence, the cord was long enough to reach the dining room and prop up in a chair to talk. As long as no one else was expecting a call.
“You kids don’t stay on that phone, now,” Mom chided. “It’s a school night.”
“Bye,” Mom said to me a few years later.
“Call me when you get there. Find a payphone and call me if you need me along the way.” I was leaving Mount Pleasant, driving to California to my uncle’s house. Nineteen years old. Way before cell phones as even an idea.
My favorite act of rebellion against being married to a cell phone might be in restaurants. Where business associates and family alike feel it’s rude to ignore messages, but not those with whom they’re having dinner.
When it happens, I ask everyone to place their cell phone in the middle of the table.
Once all of the phones are stacked together and curiosity peaks, I announce, “The first one to touch their phone picks up the tab for the whole table.”
Maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late to reverse the intelligence of people and phones.
Back to how it used to be.
