This is about your mom. And your kid. And your wife. And me. I love them all, and I've told them so. Wait, wait: before you call the cops, child protective services or my wife, allow me to explain.
When the Motorola DynaTAC 8000x debuted as the first commercial cell phone in 1973, it weighed about three pounds, cost $3,995 (about $12,370 in today's dollars), was the size of loaf of bread and was in limited supply. It enabled you to call untethered from your desk or home, and while that wasn't nothing, that was about it. Much has changed since then, with the price and size plummeting, and the capabilities and availability increasing. Today mobile phones are globally ubiquitous, are almost a thousand times faster than a mid-eighties Cray-2 Supercomputer, and in almost half the world's countries, over 90% of the population own at least one.
Smart phones have advanced so far that many have given up on desktop computers and wired phones of any type. App development for mobile devices has reached the point where the number and sophistication of programs designed to run on that 6" slab of electronics in your pocket matches or outpaces that which is being created for other platforms. And more and more people are cutting their home and office cords. As a result, most people can no more conceive of being separated from their cells than they can from their arms. Hell, you got two of those; you only got one iPhone 15.
That also means that all those things you used to do in the privacy of your home or office or a quiet space in the corner you can now do, and do do, anywhere. Banking, shopping, researching your next vacation, reading the headlines, and of course, connecting with friends, business associates and family. You can confirm your tee time with buddies while on the train, review that merger agreement while driving to the supermarket, and catch up with your sister while you take a walk.
The thing, though, is that many of us choose to do these things not only from anywhere but with an audience. Maybe not an intentional one, but a gaggle of onlookers none-the-less. Glance over while commuting home on the bus and you might see someone paying their bills. Look over at the table next to you at lunch and you see someone browsing Amazon for a new toaster. Unless you have super-vision, the itty-bitty screen makes it so you are observing rather than picking up account numbers. But if they are watching adult toy reviews on YouTube, it's hard to un-see that.
And then there's chatting (and here's where your wife or kid or mom comes into play). More and more, conversations that used to be private are public. It's hard not to listen when the person next to you is yakking away oblivious to the fact that there are others within earshot. Discretion? Privacy? Embarrassment? For some those seem to be antiquated ideas. There seems to be virtually no topic... doctor's appointments, relationship issues, digestion problems... that can't be talked about loudly with spectators.
Most often, however, it's innocent chatter to which you are uninvited yet present. It's not like you are party to the conversation, but it's happening in your orbit. So what is the proper etiquette? Acknowledge it? Ignore it? There is a third tack, which I've been taking recently: participate in it.
In one case an associate walked over to me while on the phone, seemingly talking with his wife. "Yes, honey, I'll pick you up." He showed me a single finger and mouthed "one minute." He continued: "It's no problem, should be done here in plenty of time." A beat, a nod, another beat." Yup. Look, Gotta go. Safe travels. Love you." To which I quickly chimed in, "Yes honey, safe travels, love you too." He smiled and said into the phone, "And Marc loves you too." There's was a brief retort from her end (Maybe something like "Who the hell is Marc???" or similar), after which he nodded, said goodbye, and hung up. He just looked at me and laughed, and we moved on to business.
At a break I went to get a cup of coffee. Standing and waiting for my turn at the pot, the guy stirring his cup ahead of me was also on the phone, seeming to talk to a child, "Yes, you can go to Jimmy's, but you have to do your homework first." A nod. "Yes, I'll tell mom, but you have to promise to get it done You can do it, just try." Listen, nod. "OK, I'll see you later. Love you." I couldn't resist: "It's not that hard! Love you too!" The guy looked at me and smiled as he listened back. "See, Marc doesn't think it's hard either." He listened to a similar response as before, and laughed as he hung up, shaking his head. "Thanks," he said, "maybe he'll listen to you."
Not an hour later I was riding down in an elevator when a young woman got on chatting away via her earbuds. "Yes, mom, I will." Nod, listen. "Sure, when I get home." Listen, nod. "OK, I can do that." Listen. "Yes, love you too." To which I piped up, "Tell mom I love her too." The woman looked at me, smiled and laughed.
By default I'm a friendly person, and try and behave that way. My wife has taught me by example to be outgoing and connect with people I don't know. Am I being too chummy with strangers? You can decide for yourself. Just stand next to me, and make the call.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford likes to meet new people, anywhere, anytime. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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