I was determined to start writing regularly this week, now that all three children are in school four mornings, so I raced off to the grocery store, zoomed home and only unpacked the frozen foods and immediately perishables so I could quickly squeeze it in before Little Man has to be picked up. I didn't even let the discovery of an empty cardboard Land O' Lakes carton, that once contained a pound of butter, that apparently, fell out of one of the bags on my last shopping trip, melted in the late summer heat, and seeped in to the floor mats in the trunk of the van, convince me I need to slow down when I am transporting large quantities of food. I'm hoping this changes the scent of the van from unidentifiable funk, to movie theater popcorn butter though.
In line today, waiting for the cashier to finish with the order ahead of me (annoyed that the slacker college guy was bagging to day, sure as he was to ignore my carefully laid out system of frozen foods, followed by dairy, then meats, dry goods and lastly produce, and throw random things in bags together, making my hasty half-unpacking more difficult, and ensuring there'd be some warm ground turkey left behind and found upon my return from pre-school pick up), I pulled out my phone to check my email and text messages. Isn't that what we all do? It occurred to me how technology has not only made us constantly, annoyingly reachable, but is also preventing any down time or basic social interaction.
Remember being out to dinner, circa 2000, and your dinner companion needed to use the restroom? What did you do? Maybe you surreptitiously snuck looks at the people around you. H and I play a game called, "What's Their Story?" where we try to figure out what's going on at the tables around us. For example, "They are obviously on a third date. Holding hands, but still look nervous." So when one of us took a leak, the other did some recon. Or maybe you sat there uncomfortably, counting the minutes until your mate returned so you didn't feel like a loser. Now? We all whip out of mobile devices. Why have a quiet moment, possibly not looking busy and important? Or figuring if the couple at the next table is getting divorced?
Commuting was formerly a mine field of awkward interactions with strangers back in the day. When I first began commuting into New York City in the mid-nineties (we used these magical coins called tokens), I developed the blank stare popular on trains and buses that allows one to look straight ahead at the person sitting across the aisle on the M6, but not really see them . It was kind of peaceful, zoning out that way. You could also sneak glances at all the werdos around you for entertainment, like women who put on a full face of makeup while commuting - this one woman I rode with every morning carried the entire contents of a MAC counter, I swear. Lined her lips and everything. The only escape from the freak show was reading material, and even that was no guarantee. There were always those annoying over-the-shoulder newspaper readers on the subway, so blatant about it, you wanted to ask for part of your subscription fee. But sometimes, reading was a way to have an interesting conversation with a stranger.
One time on the subway, I was reading Naomi Wolfe's The Beauty Myth (while sporting my Rachel shag and my black tights and Nine West pilgrim shoes), for which the subtitle is How Images of Beauty Are Used Against Women , when this big, burly construction worker (not an assumption, he was carrying a genuine hard hat, or he was one of The Village People) asks me in his gravely Brooklyn accent, "Geez. That book any good?" Rather than blow him off, I explained the basics of the book and he and I had a pretty lively discussion about second wave feminism all the way to 78th Street. Would that have happened if I was taping away on some device? I think not. I think about all the chance encounters that are not happening because we are looking down instead of around us. How many people won't meet on a train or in line at the post office because they are checking Facebook? Maybe we need to be looking at actual faces more.
Our reflex to remove ourselves from our surroundings and hide behind our portable technology is robbing us of that daily interaction that keps us human, and the moments of doing nothing that keep us sane. I am threatening to knock down my own glass house here, since I send PTA emails and text about play dates when I'm in line longer than five seconds, but what am I missing out on? The playground can be kind of boring after the first twenty minutes, so the temptation to make a few calls or send a few funny texts can be great. A and I have been friends for seven years since we struck up a conversation at the playground. To be completely honest, he saved me when #1 was crying to go on the swings and I was nursing #2, so a phone call to anywhere but an asylum would have been out of the realm of possibility, but still. Another friend, also met by the jungle gym, referred me to the pre-school my kids have gone to for the past seven years and I became the board president of. What would have happened if I was on the phone instead?
I hope we are at the height of this technological obsession, maybe there will be a backlash, with people unplugging, but I doubt it. Don't even get me started with this younger generation who think it perfectly acceptable to whip out a phone during a lull in conversation or at the dinner table - and I'm talking about people in their twenties. Will the basics of human interaction be forever lost? I'm not sure what the answer is, but I have decided to put myself on a Blackberry detox plan. I have it on "phone calls only" during the day. I turn it off completely when in the house with the kids and turn it on again when H is supposed to send me his nightly ETA text (and then, his inevitable "I missed the train" text). And when I do answer him, if I am with the kids I say, "Excuse me, I have to answer Daddy." How will they learn to use technology responsibly if I am constantly dropping out of conversation with them to look at my phone? They deserve some respect as well.
I will try to fight the urge, when waiting at school pick-up or in line at CVS, to check my phone, instead of chatting with a fellow mom or smiling at the old guy in front of me who is sure to pay for his hemorrhoid cream with nickels. I don't think I'm going to meet the editor of my book in line for groceries, but do I really want to tempt fate?
1 comment:
I really enjoyed this post. Thanks for making me think about it. I love to talk about the "good old days" and roll my eyes at those I see glued to their phones, but rarely take stock on myself.
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