Land line phones, cell phones, voicemail, email, video call, FaceTime and text, Oh My.
Land line phone, don’t have one. Haven’t since Pumpkin got off his ankle monitor. Although I hear the new monitors will work with a cell phone.
Voicemail, my message simply states, “I don’t listen to voicemail”. Which is true, but my cell transcribes it to a message I can read. About every other word is accurate, so I get the general idea of the call and if it’s an emergency or not.
Email, I check about once a week. It’s my mom’s favorite mode of communication. Once she realized I don’t read it she started texting me to read my email. Such a mom move.
Video calls/FaceTime, sends me into a panic. It’s like I am butt naked, someone comes to my front door and I have to answer it. I usually push decline immediately, get off all social media, throw my phone down and stare at it while thinking, “Why the fuck would you do that?” to whomever is calling. It’s like hiding behind your couch till the person leaves your front door.
I remember how brave I was as a kid of the 80’s. The phone would ring, I would lunge to answer it with an upbeat, expectant, “Hello”. Sooooo innocent. Fool.
Who would it be? The cute boy in seventh period you’ve been hoping would call? The mouth breather from homeroom? Your best friend Pam who you’d talk to for hours about how you’d never ever French kiss a boy. Your mom’s friend who you’d lie to, telling her your mom wasn’t home so they wouldn’t tie up the line for HOURS talking about Jane Fonda exercise videos. Because, check this out, you didn’t want to miss a call! I know, cray cray, right?
Don’t get me wrong, there were some calls you didn’t want and would hang up on. The school calling to tell your mom you weren’t in class today or Columbia House CD Club calling for their $120.00 bucks because you didn’t send back the postcard saying you didn’t want the selection that month. That was a tricky one because most kids my age joined without their parents permission and didn’t realize how relentlessly Columbia House would try to get their money. Which I of course did not have and Patty Jane would end up taking out my ass.
My knee jerk reaction to any form of communication that pierces my bubble of self absorption is to be–well, a jerk. My mode of communication is text. It gives me time to deal with the fact that communication is going to take place. I can read it at my leisure, center myself, decide what my response will be, craft it and send it off. Why can’t we all just text?