Here are two words sure to earn you eternal exile from my private Hershey’s stash: “Text me.” (There are others, but let’s stay on point, shall we?)
Five reasons I don’t text (the cliff’s notes version):
- I don’t care.
- I haven’t quite gotten that nano-second thing down yet
- I don’t care
- I have a soft spot for horses and buggies
- Did I mention I don’t care?
Not long ago we were having dinner out at Quinault. A family of five traipsed in. As soon as they were seated, all three kids popped in ear buds and tuned out the entire universe in favor of their mobile device. Mom and Dad ate in silence. The kids were more engaged in whatever uber app was striking their fancy than they were with the rest of the fam. I was tempted to dive in, deliver Mom Lecture #8,674, and do some serious confiscatin’. (You’ll be relieved to hear that I didn’t.)
Technology is a wonderful thing. It can keep us connected. Dialed in. Informed. Up to date. Nimble. Able to work faster, harder, smarter. Improve efficiency. And isolate us. Keep us superficial. Shallow. Enable us to maintain a “safe” distance by providing an illusion of “friend-ing” that’s a mile wide and a quarter-inch deep.
What can I say? I’m a dinosaur.
True, it takes a little more time to connect/communicate without the omnipresent mobile device doo-dad. You may even have to put forth some actual effort. But who wants to have dinner with SoundCloud or Flixster? I’d rather engage a real, live person. Note: I’ve been known to grab offending *mobile devices* and hold them for ransom until the check arrives. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’m also kind of partial to that quaint little game we used to play called “conversation.” Dinosaurs will remember. We used to play this game before the advent of smart phones, texting, tweeting, apps and status updates. Everyone survived. It was kind of fun. It’s also becoming a lost art. I blame tweeting. Mostly because it’s convenient.
So. Are you a text slave?
You May Be a Text Slave If:
- Text speak has replaced 5th grade English skills
- You sleep with your smart phone
- You’d devolve into a raving lunatic at the mere thought of *surviving* without your smart phone/texting for 10 days. Cold turkey. (I dare you!)
- You text someone in the same room instead of sitting down and talking with them
- On your lunch break, you forego food so you can text to your BFF instead
- You can’t remember the digits in your land line
- You got rid of your land line in favor of texting
There’s also that attention span of a gnat thing. (You know who you are.)
Newsflash: I love technology as must as the next drink of water. And really, where are you going to store a surrey with a fringe on top these days? But everyone I know who’s buried in their smart phone/texting/apping/tweeting/ is chained to it. Like an addict. Trying to have a semi-decent conversation with them can be like talking to the dark side of the moon. Without the moon.
I know, I know. Texting and tech-ing make life easier. More efficient. Faster. Quicker. And faster and faster and faster and… Well, whoop-de-do. Because where exactly is all that frantic, frenetic texting, running, rushing, 24/7-ing, and nano-seconding getting you?
I know, I know again. I’m a dinosaur. Know what? I still don’t care. In fact, I kinda like being a brontosaurus. Free as a bird. Unchained. Independent. I don’t have to worry about a third party accessing my personal info. Or tracking my every move and contact. Or losing my mind if I lose my mobile doo-dad. I’d rather do the real, live person thing.
I’m just funny that way.
Photo credit: public domain.