Except when answering texts for my Wonderful Wife, while she's driving on a two hour trip, on her phone. It's not so bad when you're responding to every ding with " This rest stop bathroom is a mess. I'm pooping." Or " Darn, it won't flush. They're going to be really surprised by that one!", interspersed with coffee and hamburger emojis...
It took an hour and a half, but her friend eventually texted back " Hankster! Is that you?"
Good times. But other than that...
I hate texting.
I know that in the year 2017, writing this statement is just about enough to get me involuntarily committed. I try very hard to distance myself from all the other reasons that could lead to the probability of that eventual occurrence, but I cannot allow the laws of self preservation to silence me.
Not on this.
Let them come with white coats, happy jackets and butterfly nets; some things just need to be said...
I am not that old. Well, maybe I am approaching that watermark, a hefty, balding anachronism whose teen McMonkeys think he has already driven well over that precipice...
I can't quite accept I'm there yet.
My job is reasonably technical and I have been confused for " the tech guy" once or twice, in a few factories. I am not him, I assure you, but at times faking it was enough to actually repair some fairly complex machines; I have googled and copied and pasted...
I'm not a technophobe.
But...
Generally, everything after but is bull- hooey, I know...
But... I have an inherent incompetence communicating in social media, and am about as graceful in typed conversations as a bull in an Apple Store. ( not sure I can go back to the one in Crossgates Mall yet) but that's a whole other story...
I can express words, thoughts and emotions, in a reasonable fashion; given days to ponder how a functional person would react to a particular sentence, and eventually I'm able to formulate a response.
Sitting down, one to one, it is a coin toss; maybe, maybe not, but at least there is a chance. Text me, and all hope dives out the window.
Is there a phobia somewhere for the identity I own?
I don't do small talk well. Correction, I don't do small talk at all. I stutter and act stupid, I bumble and bounce, like riding a verbal hoppity hop down the stairs...
And this isn't the reason I hate texting; it's just the synopsis of the crazy basket in my brain. The reason, I think, is much more personal...
You can fall in love on the telephone.
I know you can, because I have. If you are old enough to remember pay phones, you have too... Thirty five or forty years ago, after dodging sabertoothes, I remember being on the phone for hours, with an old girlfriend. Conversations on politics and horror movies, philosophies and broken hearts; deep, personal secrets and stupidly outrageous jokes.
That can't happen on a phone keypad; if it does, you've probably fallen in love with the inventor of autocorrect, not the person you are texting. I can call my Wonderful Wife twice in the same week, from work, and have practically the same conversation, and within moments I can usually tell, by her tone if she's having a good day, a-someone peed on the bathroom wall-day or an-unusually disoriented husband forgot to empty his wallet of receipts, and now we are broke for the week-day...
Just by her tone...
I read stupid memes saying if your boyfriend doesn't text you back right away, he doesn't love you. News flash...
If your boyfriend loves you, he's going to want to hear your voice...
How many dating teens are hovering over the glow of a stupid screen, waiting for snippets of a conversation, instead of taking part in a real one? When did people start thinking that little green balloons with a few words, dashed out with hastily added emojis can take the place of intimate conversation?
I hate texting because you never have someone's complete attention when they are with you, if their phone is on. Someone else is always with you.
Correction- everyone else in their contact list is always with you. They may be well mannered enough to not constantly be checking their phone, but when a lull in the conversation happens , almost inevitably, they dive to check.
The tragedy is, this is normal.
Mention it and you are called out of touch. With some, voicing opposition to text based communications is punishable by stoning...
Bring it up at any place people congregate with their phones.
Kitchens. Public bathrooms. Funerals. On the nightstand while making love....
Ask people the most embarrassing place they ever received a text.
I double dog dare you...
How strangely ironic; an affinity for human intimacy in a socio-phobe...
Of course, I am just a few months past cro-magnon; I refuse to use the self serve checkout lines because they feel impersonal, and I find it kind of gauling that companies want me to do the job of their employees and accept that it is for my own convenience. I look forward to watching my favorite shows, on the same day, on the same channel, at the same time, every week.
I binged watched only once, Daredevil, season 2 on Netflix last year recuperating from shoulder surgery... Great show, but it isn't anything I desire to do again..
I don't tip people for running a cash register, either...
Like I said, I'm out of touch...
My son gets mad that I won't text him. He doesn't get it...
I want to talk to my son, even if all we talk about is when I need to pick him up. I don't want, fifteen years down the road to find out I can't remember how he sounded but can recall his favorite font. I want to say " I love you, bub" every time, when I hang up, even if it makes him feel embarrassed. I want to hear my loves melodious,if frustrated voice, at every opportunity - even if she's mad at me...
But I am our of touch and my value system has crested past obsolescence ...
And I'm ok with that...
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