Mr Watson Come Here I Want To See You
February 10, 2012 by staff
Mr Watson Come Here I Want To See You, Ah for the good ole days. Getting to know your neighbor was easy. All one needed to do was hoist the telephone and listen in on what was known as “the party line”. I still recollect clutching our 1950s red dial phone close to my ear, straining to hear our neighbors on Baldwin Drive yak away. Prolonging the connection, I pressed the phone to my hearing sensor, slowly moving the handset to its cradle. Pausing before the final hang-up, I collected the last bit of gossip, secrets of my neighbor’s that were now mine. This cozy sharing ended with the advancement into “private lines”.
Phones are devices we just can’t live without. Since Alexander Graham Bell first spoke “Mr. Watson, come here, I want to see you,” phones have become tools that check the weather, wake us, play music, deliver and receive messages and advise everyone where we’ve been, where we are and where we’re going. But most of all, they help us eat, drive, write and shop. They are smart phones.
The digestion system just can’t seem to function without these smart phones. There is nothing like a palate pleasing meal being disturbed by a fellow patron’s loud, embarrassing and not-for-public one-sided chitchat. And pity the poor soul listening to this muffled tete-a-tete that flows out of this food stuffed mouth. Surely he or she is developing nauseous dizziness from the roar of butter beans, corn bread and tea cascading down a burping esophagus. Between gasping for air, the conversationalist continues “chewing-the-fat, smacking on fried chicken and rice whilst expelling one last smart phone belch. Beam down on us Ms. Manners.
Its high noon on Broad Street and the smart phone is racing to make a left hand turn. Slurping a drink and eating tacos and fries, these demolition jockeys hold their phones with a cckeyed shoulder, meander in and out of traffic, all the while pretending to make very important conversation. Throw in a hand gesture, who can talk without their hands, and you have a fender bender in the making. After the crash, the EMS responders can’t decide if smoke is bellowing from the air-bag crushed Marlboro, busted tires, cracked engine parts or a smart phone that’s giving up its ghostly vapors.
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