I don’t remember where I was when texting arrived. It crept up on me from behind, and not in a good way.
All of a sudden EVERYONE was at it. Yes OK, it may be ‘progress’ but really, I think it’s a backward step.
Why is it more normal to text, than to actually SPEAK to the person you want to communicate with.
Am I’m a textaphobe? Oh no I’m up to speed me! Yes my fingers can talk the talk as well as anyone else.
But way back in the day, that clever chap Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, so we could speak to another person, immediately, without waiting for a letter or a telegram, bearing good, or bad news. EUREKA! Because of him, we just picked up the phone and TALKED.
But all good things come to an end and we now have the cutting edge of text messaging at our fingertips. Previously, you might have enjoyed a verbal invitation for a hot date and had the pleasure of hearing the sexy voice of your one and only. Now, you get a piercing text alert, only to read ‘ wud b g8 2 c u 2nite, spk 2 u l8ter’.
I think women, especially, get a very raw deal in the texting department. When sending a text to their ‘man of the moment’ they usually use up all of their allotted digits. Men, on the other hand, usually use the least digits possible to get their message across.
Imagine the morning after the passionate night before. Women are prone to reliving it all, and may wonder if ‘he’ is still basking in the same afterglow as she is. (Unlikely)
So she sends a 160 digit loving missive about how great it had all been. If she’s lucky enough to get any response at all, ‘yeah woz gud’ could just tip her over the edge of texting reason.
Mobile phones seem to have become the adult version of a security blanket. They have to be within touching distance or the owner feels a bit scared. Scared of missing something that is.
No matter where you look these days, there will be someone clutching their phone, texting madly. Huddled in doorways’ the smokers have now been joined by a new band of brothers all firing up their small and slinky weapons of mass communication.
Of course one thing a phone call and text message do have in common is that sometimes both of them are a long time coming so to speak.
You know how it is, you are all loved up, waiting for a missive from the object of your desire, but you have to keep your phone on silent. Perhaps you are at work, or worse still, a funeral.
So you tuck your mobile snugly in your bra or knickers. After all if there are any vibrations heading your way, especially in your lady bits, you sure as hell don’t want to miss them.
Then, if he’s in ‘chatty’ mode you have to plead early onset incontinence and visit the loo several times so you can reply in secret.
Gone are the days when numerous trips to the ladies could indicate doing constructive things with white powder and a credit card. The fashionable addiction now is TEXTING.
Even the Priory Clinic are running therapy sessions, I kid you not.
But even if it is quick, and convenient, texting is still fraught with issues for lots of people.
We’ve all got a relative or friend who takes FOREVER to reply to the simplest of texts, or who just ignores them altogether.
Isn’t it so annoying, when you need a quick response to something, as in, right NOW, and you know damn well the other person is definitely not handcuffed to a chair in a darkened room rocking some earplugs. Yes, they can see, and hear that they have received a text from you, but it’s totally out of your hands, when, or if they will answer.
Then to add insult to injury, eventually you may get a response which begins ‘soz woz busy b4….
Busy BUSY? What on earth were you so busy doing that it took you THIS long to bloody well answer. Honestly, I’ve seen my nearest and dearest respond to a text almost before they’ve received it, yet sometimes I wait DAYS for a reply if I get one at all!
I’m ancient enough to remember the smelly phone box at the bottom of my road, where I used to go every Sunday evening with my Mum so we could make our weekly phone call to my Gran. The A and B button, the frantic ‘Goodbyes’ trying to beat the pips.
Somehow, no matter how many kisses it has at the end, a text from MY Grandchildren, just isn’t the same as hearing their voices.