1. Text
2. Email
3. Secondary email
4. Twitter
5. Hopstop (accompanied with the constant inner dialogue "Is this where I'm supposed to be? Did I miss my stop? Where am I going again? If I get off at Spring Street, I can switch to the ACE which will take me to the 2....right?")
Lather. Rinse. Repeat
But starting a few months ago, my trusty Curve started acting a little off. First, he began dropping my calls. So, I gave him some distance and switched to texting. Then, when I started moving too fast, he'd freeze up. Finally, even when I thought everything was great (full battery), he'd end things with no explanation or excuse. This on-and-off relationship continued for months until last Friday, when things officially ended between us. The blinking red light turned off for good and I was left in the middle of 14th street, alone. I didn't even have that cute Verizon network to fall back on.
I headed straight to the AT&T store, where they told me I could get a brand new phone if I signed a 2-year contract, payed a full fee, filled out six forms, mailed them in, wait for them to come back, get on the phone with customer service, stay on hold, explain what happened to my phone, beg for a new phone, adjust my data plan...you get the picture. Those little red dots on the AT&T coverage maps? If you connect them all, that's the red tape you have to wade through before you get any real customer service.
Considering most people spend, on average, two hours in the AT&T store, there was no hope going on my lunch break. So, I decided to wait it out a couple days. "I can do this, no problem," I thought.
Wrong.
Without warning, my laptop stopped charging, I lost my mail key and I couldn't find my glasses. Even if someone wrote an airplane message in the sky, I still wouldn't be able to read it. I was completely unreachable. All of a sudden, all the little things I never thought about, started becoming big problems.
Waking up: I had to go to Target to buy an alarm clock to replace the one in my phone. All it does is alarm, can you believe that?
Finding time: I'm constantly searching for any clock on the street or people's wrists to keep track of the time. There's no phrase I hate more than "What time is it?" Talk about grammar vomit.
Staying connected: I actually check my email. It took me a couple tries to find the log-in page before I could access one of the three accounts I have linked to my phone. What's my password again?
Making plans: "Oh, you guys went out last night?" "Yeah, we texted you!" Unless someone lives with me or knocks on my door, I'm running up and down stairs trying to figure out what's planned for the evening. This, of course, leads to my next point.
Coordinating outfits: No more "what are you wearing?" texts. I've started carrying heels in my purse just in case there was a change of plans.
In 2010, phones text, take pictures, browse streaming video, take you online and oh, yeah, make calls. But they do a lot more than that too — they change the way we interact with each other. If I lived in NYC in the 1950's, I would have made plans in advance, met promptly at a pre-determined time and place and crossed my fingers that they said "avenue" and not "street." There was no room for mistakes, last minute changes or "I just don't really feel up to going out after all" texts. Our lack of commitment isn't limited to our relationships, it's all over our network (yes, even the 4G).
So if you've sent me a text, email, letter or sky writing in the last week, I apologize. You can continue to reach me by sending flowers or — dare I say it — knocking on my door. If you'd like to bring candy, Girl Scout cookies or a set of Cutco knives to make yourself more comfortable, I don't mind.
Logging out,
Voguerrilla
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