By Carl Sampson
I’ve just about had it with this whole hooked-in, wired-up Internet and cell phone thing.
To me, it’s more like a hung-up and stressed-out thing.
I’m going back to the good old days. By that, I mean the days when I only received messages from people I wanted to hear from, not from some godforsaken electronic device.
Take my cell phone, please.
A while back, my old cell phone died. After a short celebratory period, it occurred to me that I might be able to jettison my cell phone forever. Imagine being able to go places and do things without an electronic leash.
Like the typical cell phone calls I get at work.
“Hey, Dad, are you busy?”
“No, son, I’m just sitting here drumming my fingers and staring out the window.”
“Uh, would you be able to pick up my new contacts at the store?”
“Why would I want to do that?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t have enough money to. …”
“Never mind, I get it.”
Without a cell phone I could just tell the folks at the office not to allow any calls through from people who seem like they might be related to me. My wife would get an exemption, but everyone else would be cut off.
My boss, however, reminded that I need a cell phone. It would allow instantaneous communications in case of an emergency. Whatever. I suppose if it’s an emergency I ought to have one of those things.
So I got a new cell phone. It’s one of those with all sorts of buttons. Then I decided to really get with it and buy one of those Bluetooth gadgets to stick in my ear. This way, in case of an emergency, my boss or my kids could pester me while I’m driving the car, too.
So I set up the phone and the Bluetooth gadget and was I ever feeling hooked-in and wired-up.
Until I found out that my cell phone now could ask me stupid questions, too.
“Who would you like to call?” It asked me the other morning as I was pulling out of the driveway.
“No one,” I replied.
“Your wife?”
“No.”
“Your son?”
“No!”
“Your other son?”
“No!”
“You boss?”
“Negative!”
“President Obama?”
“Noooo!!!”
It kept up with the 20 questions game until I grabbed the Bluetooth thingy and threw it into the backseat, where it remains.
I’ve made a pledge. I now do everything by paper. If someone wants to contact me, they can mail me a letter. If I want to find out the news, I buy a paper.
And do you know what? I find that I’m better informed and have more time to myself. I do the things I want to do when I want to do them, not what some gadget thinks I should be doing. I can read a book, go for a walk or do what I do best — cure all of the ills of the universe.
Hey, it’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.
