Dec. 10: Things people do when they're on their phone

 So I’m going to feel like a hypocrite as I write this note.

It’s supposed to be about the inconsiderate things people do when they’re on their phones. The surgeon general warns that I am surely guilty of everything I will likely write about here. My mom and Ash both tell me I’m on my phone too much, and I am. I hate that about me too. Since getting a Smartphone, the time I used to spend reading and writing has dipped exponentially. Many days I think I should scrap the bloody thing and get an old fashioned flip phone or, even better, just a landline. Can’t do that though. I need a cell phone for work purposes.
 

I guess the one thing that bugs me most is when people ignore me so they can be on their phones. Now that’s totally understandable if my presence was not expected, but if you invite me to your place to play chess or make Ovaltine, don’t spend most of your time playing bitlife or texting your crazyy Uncle Marmaduke in Saskatchewan.
 

Like I said, I am guilty of that too.

And you know what? This phenomenon precedes cell phones. Back in the 1990s, I was a part of a writers’ circle out west. We would get together to read our works in progress and offer constructive criticism. We always dreaded it when the meeting was scheduled for Marcie’s house. This was because (a) Marcie was a chain-smoker and (b) Marcie was addicted to her phone.

Evidently, we would all be sitting around Marcie’s living room, choking on second hand smoke* that mostly came from Marcie but also came from the other impoverished writers. We would be listening to another poem about flowers in Banff or another personal essay about AA meetings in rundown church basements, and then the phone would ring.  

And Marcie just could not ignore the phone. It was like a compulsion. She had to answer it. And, evidently, we would all be held hostage while she talked with whoever it was on the other end. Most of the time it was her mother, who lived in a retirement home in British Columbia, and who had endless conversations with her daughter about the incompetence of the wait staff there, how much she missed her deceased husband, and what happened that day on Days of Our Lives. Once, an old college friend called Marcie out of the blue while a writers session was going on and Marcie took about 30 minutes to tell him or her all about the amazing things she had done since graduating back in the 70s.

Evidently, Marcie would say her goodbyes and then offer a lame apology like: “I’m sorry, but that person just would not let me go.” And by that time, the spirit was dead (mostly because Marcie would hush us if anyone uttered a sound louder than a mouse fart.) No one wanted to discuss writing anymore. We were all too pissed off. There was small talk, more smoking, and then we’d disperse. I don’t think anyone ever told Marcie that what she was doing was wrong. We should have.

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When I was about 16, our family moved into an upscale house in Canyon Meadows, a somewhat affluent neighbourhood in southwest Calgary. My sister’s bedroom had its own private phone line and I can still remember the squeal of delight she emitted after learning this fact. My immediate reaction was jealousy, that I should demand my own line too, but I quashed it. I knew that my sister, whose social circle was about a supernova bigger than mine, had more need of her own phone line. 

Believe it or not kids, there was a time when you’d get something called a “busy signal” when you called someone. That meant they were talking on the phone with someone else. Then came something called call waiting and now, with Smartphones, your phone will tell you when another call is coming through. Yeah, this new life is wonderful.

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In the 50s, a common stock character was the phone-obsessed teenager. If the teen dramas of the time were to be believed, girls would come home from school, get on the phone, and spend the whole evening talking to their best girlfriends about all the gossip of the day. Intercut that with exasperated mom and dad who want their daughters to eat dinner, do homework, be part of the family, or just free up the phone line so they can make some calls too.

That fell by the wayside when more distractions came into the scene. There was television, followed by personal computers, followed by dedicated gaming consoles, followed by the internet. Then Smartphones encapsulated everything mentioned above. In theory, a person could spend an entire weekend in a locked closet and not even notice the time passing should they have a Smartphone. The weekend might not be very productive - Smartphones lend themselves to consumption rather than creation - but at least it wouldn’t be boring.

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This note has gone on long enough. I’m going to play some Snoopy Town. Don’t worry, folks. It won’t annoy anyone. I’m alone.

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* If the new millennium has brought us anything good, it is our collective aversion to second hand smoke. When I first came of age, restaurants and nightclubs allowed smoking inside and it was not uncommon for me to go home at the end of the night reeking of smoke. Thank God that our laws, both written and unwritten, now insist that smokers take their disgusting habit outside.