to be using my new phone. Thank you a million times.”
“You’re welcome, but you do understand it is not a new phone, just a device that lets you talk hands free?”
Do I understand?
“Disconnect” I say as I am pulling into the parking lot. The Bluetooth says “Call completed,” and George is gone. Two seconds later he calls back. I hear his phone number announced and ponder my choices. “Accept call,” I finally concede, feeling very powerful.
“Why did you hang up on me?” George asks.
“Because I can. Hands free! How cool is that?”
On my way home I decided to try one last call.
“What now?” George answered.
“Oh you weren’t supposed to pick up. I’m calling to leave myself a message about a column idea…”
BTW: Silence Is Still Golden
It appears I am one of a disappearing breed who still values alone time. For more than two decades I have been a regular at the same bench under a weeping willow tree in Pasadena’s serene Huntington Gardens. It’s my place to breathe and be in the moment.
My moment, however, was invaded recently by an intruder who was so afraid of missing a possible future moment that she bypassed the opportunity to experience the present one.
Click, click, click. The young woman at the other end of the bench texted constantly. There were minor pauses as she received responses, which made her laugh, screech or shout “shut up!”(which I was really hoping she would do. But, of course, she was talking in the vernacular of the day, where shut up means “no way” — as in an expression of surprise).
She made it through almost five minutes of non-texting, during which she was actually talking on the cell phone, in low, flat tones. I guess the really juicy stuff is kept for texting.
When she finally ended her call, her cell phone beeped, indicating that she had received a guess what? — text message — while she was on the phone.
By then I was so drawn into her moment that it became my own.
What, I wondered, might I text my bench mate so I could talk to her in her own language? This, of course, assuming that I could actually text, which in case you are wondering, I have not yet learned but it’s on my to-do list.
So I took out the pad and pen I keep in my purse and enjoying the silence of ink on paper, printed in large letters, “Ouch: You’re stepping on my moment.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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