I’m due for an upgrade. Not for my car, house, husband, or any body part – although a couple of those might be nice. No, it’s time for a new phone. I’ve reached the contracted period on my current perfectly-good flip phone, and I am eligible for one with all the latest features.
Soon I will make the brain-blowing trip to the cell phone store and try to decipher the choices and costs, hopefully, emerging hours later with the latest and greatest. At which point, I hope all my flip-phone-hating loved ones and friends will stop abusing me. Taunts about the 21st century, cackles at my fine fuchsia phone, the badgering about texting. It’s all grown very old, even though my communication device still does just great.
The peer pressure concerning texting has become more than I can bear. Everyone wants me to be able to text. Resisting alcohol at a college fraternity party wasn’t this difficult. The shame of having to remind folks “I don’t get texts” has become too great. Though quite frankly, I really feel no shame about it at all, except for the apparent inconvenience it causes others.
My first degree is in business, so after several years in retail and getting married, I returned to school for a teaching certificate. I taught keyboarding, marketing, and Introduction to Business before becoming a high school guidance counselor. In my mind, typing is an important skill, but like so many others, it is becoming a lost art. Gone for the masses the way of Shorthand, sewing and canning. My son is a terrible typist. It’s hard to type 60 words per minute using only one stupid little finger. It makes me sad.
Before those years of teaching, I worked at a now closed big-box discount store. I managed the safety, security and shortage functions for the store, so I was required to carry a pager (aka beeper), which is one of the reasons I decided to become a teacher. It was a pain to be “on call” when not at work. So, here’s my question … Why in the world do I want to subject myself to a constant state of on callness?
I don’t get it. Folks have become slaves to their devices. I’ll grant you there are benefits to having the tools available at one’s fingertips, but, like so many other things in life, I think we have gotten completely carried away. Do we want every other activity in our lives to be interrupted by the demanding communication diva that incessantly buzzes, rattles and rings in our hands? One friend has a ring-tone representative of a bleating goat. I wish a goat would eat all the silly things.
The rebellious side of me (thin, though it may be) wants to resist the upgrade altogether and stick with my sweet little pink phone. There when I need her, able to let me know about the most important of alerts, and silent regarding the rest of the data that funnels into my e-mail and social media pages at a frenetic pace. I’ll check that when I get to it.
Alas, I will upgrade. I will get texting and maybe a few other “critical” options, but don’t expect me to like it!