I Will Never Own a Smart Phone

I knew she wouldn't answer.  While the phone was ringing I tried to remember the last time she had answered her cell phone when I called.  Months? Years? So, I left a long rambling message; a message (sprinkled with a naughty word or two or five) that I knew she wouldn't listen to.  Her preferred mode of communication now is texting, and if we are ever going to have a conversation again, it won't be the old-fashioned way: talking.

While I was in Indianapolis I bought an iPhone, which is no big deal to you, I'm sure.  (You were probably the first person in line to get a smart phone.  Admit it!  You were, weren't you? I thought so.)  But not me.  No way, Jose! Not happening!  Can't make me do it!  I have been grandstanding for years to anyone who would listen: "I will never own a smart phone."

I love my little, old flip phone.  No newfangled touchy feely screens, with colorful box icons that cause my eyes to cross, for me.  No apps to entice me to look at a calendar, pull up photos, take a picture, check the weather, write notes, send an email, find the closest Lithuanian restaurant within 50 miles, text, or search the Internet.  Nope! My flip phone is small, simple and easy.  Its job description is as follows: Place and receive calls, store messages, and fit in tiny pockets.  That's it!  

"But does it text?" My friends and family wanted to know.

"Well, I'm not sure.  I'll ask it,"  I responded as I pulled my little jewel of a phone out of my pocket.  I hit the number 3 one time for "D" and the number 6 three times for the "o" in "Do." My question was going to be "Do you text?" but my finger started to cramp unexpectedly, so I took that as a big fat NO! My phone does not text.

It was that dang texting--or lack of--that made me do it, and now that I own a smart phone, I don't know how I was able to function without it.  In the olden days, with my useless flip phone, I drove to town with both hands on the steering wheel and focused on my driving.  There was nothing else to do.  Nowadays, my options are limitless.  Want to see the latest posting on Facebook?  There's an app for that.  Need to send an email?  Check the pressure in my tires? Do my mother's taxes? Yep! Yep! Yep! App! App! App! Now the drive to town is an exercise in multi-tasking, and the time goes by so fast. But I would never text and drive.  That's illegal.

Texting has eliminated the need to talk, and I have never been fond of that activity. It's way too much work.  First, there's the breath you have to take before the first word is even uttered. Voice box, lips, tongue, and teeth are required for talking, and sometimes mine just want to be left alone.  But it's my brain that creates the most havoc when I communicate via the spoken word.  It doesn't want to be bothered, either.  It's usually late and then strolls in all cocky and arrogant after the naughty words are out of my mouth. "You need to think before you speak!" my brain chastises as if I have control over what I say.  

Before, during the dark ages of stupid flip phones, when I was at social events, I felt obligated to be, well, social.  To mingle and talk (you know how much I like to do that).  Now, with my constant companion by my side, everything has changed.  I nod my head at the appropriate time, laugh disingenuously at the jokes, and fake smile during conversations while texting, bidding on Ebay, and playing "Words With Friends" with Olga in Russia.   That's not rude, is it?  Nah!  I didn't think so.