I’m slightly amused and a lot amazed when I enter my crowded commuter train morning or evening and witness dozens of suited bodies with eyes fixated, fingers dancing, and attention captivated by tiny hand-held slivers of technology. Occasionally they talk on them. Mostly they poke and swipe at them. During a break in any meeting anywhere, colleagues pull out their blackberries and smart phones with a sense of urgency. What might have happened during the last ninety minutes that they simply must know? I sat in a theater last Friday night and during the intermission the same thing happened. Instead of talking with each other or reading the Playbill, most people around me communed with their cell phones.
Recently I took the final course of my doctoral studies – an elective on qualitative research methodology. To provide an in vivo experience in qualitative research, my six classmates and I were required to undertake a small group project wherein we would interview each other on a chosen topic and then collectively analyze the transcripts. After much debate, we settled on the topic of one’s relationship with one’s cell phone. We entertained the idea of going a day without our phones to see how that felt. One of my classmates practically hyperventilated at the thought. It was vetoed.
Looking around the room, everyone except the professor and me had their cell phones out on their desks every class. I don’t know where his was – but mine was four floors above me, locked in my office. I was unconcerned about what it might be doing in my absence. One young woman sitting next to me sent and received text messages continually during the entire class, every week. I wondered if she thought our professor was blind to what she was doing. Or maybe she didn’t care.
I’ve been teaching for thirteen years. Over the years I’ve added directives to my syllabus that cell phones must be set on vibrate so their rude ring doesn’t interrupt the class – or more accurately, my concentration. Two years ago I had to add a ‘no texting’ edict during class. Still, they can’t resist. So I stop in the middle of a lecture when I see texting behavior – head bowed, eyes intently fixated on something just below table level – and demand, “Those who are texting please stop now.”
People clearly are attached to their cell phones with a passion that borders on the obsessive. These miracle machines also serve as mini-computers, movie theaters, music players, video game consoles, calendars, calculators, cameras, video recorders, and GPS systems. Do we really need entertainment and/or stimuli “to go” every waking hour? Do we really need to be so available to everyone’s impulse?
Don’t get me wrong. I love my cell phone. It was the first item I ever owned to which I attributed “stress-busting” status. Twenty years ago, my first cell phone was an unwieldy device housed in a large black vinyl case with a heavy battery. It also required an antenna mounted on the hood of my car. Unless one was weight-training, it was not the kind of thing that you would carry around with you. It had been a gift from older relatives worried about the time I spent in my car at odd hours and in unsavory neighborhoods in my work as a writer/photographer for a union. I plugged the phone in to my car’s cigarette lighter and felt instantly relieved. No more hunting for a pay phone, finding a safe place to park, and digging for change. No more increased blood pressure when caught in traffic late for an appointment. But service was expensive then so I used the phone sparingly, not even turning it on unless I needed to make a call. “Need” had nothing to do with impulse or inability to delay gratification.
Over the years, my phones got lighter and smaller and eventually fit nicely into my purse or my coat pocket. However, I don’t really like talking on any phone, be it land line or cell. I dislike the feeling of disconnectedness and lack of visual cues. I also tend to resist advances in technology, typically buying new toys long after most people have done so (or not at all). I keep my phones long past the time when Verizon has deemed me eligible for an upgrade. Counting that first albatross, I’ve had four phones in twenty years. That’s six fewer than Verizon would have preferred.
Last winter my cell phone battery cover somehow broke off. I went without it for awhile. Then my best friend showed off her brand new Samsung Fascinate smart phone. I was – well - fascinated. I sprang for it. We have a love/hate relationship. I hate that a smart phone can make me feel so dumb. I gaze at all the little icons and wonder which one I need to tap to do what I want. Or more likely, which one will cause me to do something I don’t want to do. I panic if I’m engaged with my phone in a simple activity like sending a text – and something else happens, like..... it rings. I’ve yet to master how to deal with call waiting. I’d really rather the second caller would just get a busy signal. I am, after all, busy. I hate the little genius living inside the phone who second-guesses what I want to type and auto-corrects my mistakes to the amusement of recipients.
I don't quite "get" the need, however, to have one's phone become a body part. Yes, they are wonderful when you're running late or are stranded with a car that stopped running. But do we really need to be plugged in and entertained on the sidewalk, waiting in line at the post office or grocery store, and during intermission? What has happened to watching where we are going, waiting quietly, taking in our surroundings, being fully present in this moment in this space? No batteries needed.
