I got a letter in the mail the other day from my cell phone company. I haven’t been under contract for years and my being a free agent makes them nervous. The promotion was for a deep discount on a smart phone. I’m don’t know why smart phones are called phones at all. Mostly people walk around staring at the shiny screens or stroking them as if they were holding a small pet.
Am I against progress, you ask. No, I’m not against it. I’m afraid of it. And offers for free apps won’t change my mind. With my wrinkles and grey hair I’ve no interest in clicking a selfie. Nor do I need to locate a good restaurant. I know the good places already. And no, I don’t want to get my emails while I’m out. I leave home to get away from them. Mostly they’re promos for smart phones.
Frankly, I’m not smart enough to own a smart phone. The advice I’ve read on how to buy one leaves me scratching my head. “There is some science to figuring out what screen size might best serve you,” one article began. (The Week, April 11, 2014 pg. 16) It went on to say that if I am old, I might need a large screen to read my messages. On the other hand, a large screen will be hard on my thumbs. (Ibid pg. 16) Thumbs? What have thumbs got to do with answering the phone?
To be honest, I’m dreading the day when my flip top dies. Of course, after I’ve made the change there might be a bright side. When I walk through the mall with no phone stuck in my ear, people might stop staring at me as if I had head lice. With a smart phone, I’ll behave like everyone else. I’ll stare at the thing instead of making calls.
(Courtesy of aaronyubozheng.wordpress.com)