Ferris Robinson
Regarding my new wireless device, I am confounded. Not about how to make it work, although I am constantly surprised that I have somehow muted the thing or turned on Facetime. Seeing my poor face up close and personal without warning or flattering light is unsettling, as is trying to locate whatever cloud all my personal effects are stored in. Somewhere in the stratosphere are all my pictures and emails and messages, but trying to locate that particular cloud is akin to locating an actual cloud in the sky that I saw a few days ago.
No, what bewilders me the most are rules of etiquette when it comes to this particular device.
Apparently there is some code of behavior regarding smart phones, but I can’t find an exact source. All I know is that I’m not behaving quite right.
I first became aware of this shortcoming when I was part of a group text. This is much like the party line of old. There are several people involved and they all can respond to the original text. Apparently the expected response time rivals the speed of light. Or sound. Whichever is fastest.
I waited a little while before weighing in on this group text, and got a snarky reply from my friend Beth, alluding to my delayed response. She asked what time zone I was in.
Apparently, letting any amount of time pass, instead of dropping everything and texting back immediately, is apparently taboo. This is one of my many faux pas in the new realm of communications.
I know this because one of my sons (each of whom would rather write a thesis than speak in person on the telephone) actually dialed my number and spoke with his natural God-given voice, right in the middle of our texting conversation.
"Mom? Are you mad at me?” this son asked, incredulous.
“No! Why would I be mad?” I answered.
“You were just so curt with your text,” he said in a hurt voice.
I had simply texted the word ‘No.’ Not ‘Heck no’ or ‘What are you thinking’ or ‘Why would you even ask that question.’ I typed the two letters, N, O, very carefully. And I retyped them when my wayward phone spelled ‘bum’ instead. And I cancelled a sentence that suggested something obscene and I retyped the two letters once more. This entire ordeal of typing two letters took much longer than any phone conversation and magnified my general frustration over my smartphone.
I told this story to another mother, counting on her support. I thought she would identify with my situation and tell me the same thing happens to her with her kids. I thought we would share a good laugh about kids and technology. Instead she identified with my son.
“You are very terse in your texting,” she chided.
I guess she has a point. If someone texts me an invitation, as in ‘Do you want to meet for lunch’ or ‘Can you come to my fabulous beach house and be wined and dined all week,’ I text back those same two letters that are direct and to the point. It may or may not take a fair amount of time, but I simply type ‘no.’
If I were to go on and on appreciatively it would defeat the purpose of texting. Which is something I’m not sure of in the first place. Just call me. I’ll answer. And I’ll probably say yes.
(Ferris Robinson can be contacted at ferrisrobinson@gmail.com. www.ferrisrobinson.com)