Text Me No Texts
Thu., April 30, 09:30 AM
I got my first cell phone that could receive and send text messages about two years ago. When my old clunker (about six inches long and an inch thick) became really obsolete, I chose my current phone to replace it. My criterion was simple: could I see the display? It would be another year before my eyes were repaired. I knew the capability was there, but it was of no interest to me. So I sent no text messages at all.
I did discover, however, that when someone sent me a text, I had to pay to read it. It was seldom indeed that the message was worth what it cost. So mostly I ignored them. It is especially annoying that I can’t even tell who sent it without opening it. Last time I spoke with a customer service representative, I just asked to have the service removed. “It’s not good for old eyes.” I have also discovered another disadvantage. Now, remember, I am not only a professional typist, but I have small fingers. Nevertheless, I can barely input names and numbers into my personal list. Much of the time I find myself using my fingernails to press the necessary buttons. For this I should put my thumbs out of joint?
Why is everyone so impatient anyway? You don’t have to be in touch every minute. If you place a phone call and there is no answer, you just leave a voice message. Furthermore, there are places where you are supposed to turn off your phone — not that people read signs — and a voice message will be just as timely as a text message.
I find myself wondering, just what is so important that it can’t wait. When I went to the lab on Monday, to have the blood work for next week’s surgery, I turned off my phone, as the signs request. That meant I didn’t even know what time it was. And then a couple of college girls came in.
It took the two of them to start the paperwork, and then the injured girl got on the phone. I will concede that it was necessary; she was checking insurance information with a parent. Granted, she should have gone into the hall to do that, but she had injured her foot, so maybe it was better that she stayed in a chair. She filled out the forms and returned them to the clerk, and then — as I see it — she should have turned off the phone.
But no, she was texting. Again and again. So was her friend. In between, she was telling her friend everything that had happened, as she sent the texts to the immediate world. It took all my willpower to keep from saying, “You have enough material there for an interesting post. Why are you throwing it away?” I don’t suppose she posts anything more than a Livre-des-Visages comment; she probably plans to be a journalist.
On Tuesday, U.D. and I were over at the nursing home side of the day care center, setting up plans for Husband to stay in respite care while we are away for the day. My cell phone rang, it was the surgeon’s office, and I asked if she could call me back in an hour. No problem, she said. But she didn’t call back till the next day, to tell me that the procedure was postponed for a day. That was something she could have left in voice mail!
I still do not know just what I have to do to extend Husband’s “vacation.” I have to pay for this, and there goes our stimulus payments. I am not a happy camper this morning.
